The Armageddon Game
by Dark Aegis
Summary: It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.' Niccolo Machiavelli. A Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness adventure, sequel to my previous story 'Life After'. Spoilers for TW Ep 13 End of Days.
1. Chapter 1: Revelations

**Title:** The Armageddon Game  
**Authors:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness  
**Summary:** _It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver._ - Niccolo Machiavelli   
**Spoilers:** Post-Doomsday, Life After, Torchwood 1x13: "End of Days"  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest, WMR, and Ponygirl72. This is a sequel to _Life After_.

* * *

**The Armageddon Game  
by Gillian Taylor**

**Chapter 1: Revelations**

He doesn't remember his name.

The first time that he realises this, in the quiet (aching) aftermath of meeting the real Jack Harkness, he's not sure if he's mourning the loss of that identity or Captain Harkness more. Then again, what sort of label can he have? He's as much Captain Jack Harkness as the Doctor is the Doctor.

It's a label, yes. But it isn't who he is. What he is.

What he is is an enigma. A mystery. Even to himself. A man who can face the Devil and live, though this time he thought (hoped) that life was done with him. That he could finally die.

He's not certain what he's meant to be now. Always a con man. Taking names that don't belong to him, pretending to be what he's not, showing his team (the only thing, he knows, that's truly his) only what they need to know.

He isn't lying when he tells Gwen what it'd take to convince him to open the Rift. The right kind of Doctor. The right kind of life. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, the Time Lord can fix this. Fix him. Tell him who he is now that he's forgotten everything else.

He's losing himself. Losing what he became when he was sheltered (loved) by the Doctor and Rose. Then again, wasn't that as much of a con as the rest of his life?

He doesn't remember his name. He's Jack Harkness, now and forever. A name, a label, that's a tribute to a man he isn't and could never be. A man whose identity he stole for a con and wishes now was his own. He wishes sometimes, in that space between his breaths, that the Doctor will come for him. Will realise somehow, someway, that he's still alive. Perhaps, now that Rose is with him again and that she knows about him, they'll come.

It's been a month since he last saw them. Watched them disappear into the Vortex without him. That was his penance for loving (abusing) Rose. It was her time, her reunion. He could wait.

He's just never been fond of that particular skill. Waiting, when he wants them. Waiting, when he needs them. Want. Need. Same thing, really. He wants the Doctor. He needs him. He was willing to put that aside for Rose, but now… Maybe Rose hasn't forgiven him for what he did – why should she? – and so hasn't told the Doctor of his existence. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He shakes his head, leaving Gwen behind in his office as he walks towards the door. He can find some solace in these people, his team, his friends. That can be enough for him, can't it? Of course it can. He's survived this long (longer) without the Doctor.

What's another few years, decades, or centuries?

It's a whisper of sound, a soft beeping or, perhaps, the ticking of a clock. But something tells him it's so much more. He almost runs towards the hand, the only remnant that he has of the Time Lord, and stares in astonishment as it glows.

_It's a lie_, his heart tells him, but he doesn't want to listen. He knows what it means. The temporal alarm – it's him. The glowing hand – it's him.

_It lies_, he tries to reason with himself, but it doesn't work. It's him. Oh, god, it's him. The rhythmic pulse of reality being torn asunder has no other name. No possible other name.

He sees reality fold around itself as a blue box shimmers into existence and his heart leaps into his throat. He reaches out, almost but not quite touching the material that surrounds the only place that he's ever truly belonged, an incredulous smile on his face.

Then the image disappears, replaced by the smiling visage of Bilis Manger. The man's hand clasps his wrist in a steely grip and he feels weakness sweep through his body, sapping his strength.

"So nice to see you again, Captain. You look well," Bilis says with what can only be called an oily smile. "I'm so sorry that won't last."

Another wave of weakness pulses through him, almost in time to his mental imaginings of the sound of a TARDIS materialisation.

_It was a lie_, he thinks and despairs as blackness claims his consciousness.

* * *

She can't seem to stop smiling. Even though they are being chased by creatures that look like something out of a horror movie, she doesn't care. Her hand is tucked securely within his, they're running for their lives across uneven ground and it seems as if they've run out of options. This, she knows, is where they shine.

"Right, not working," the Doctor mumbles from her side, tugging her behind a rather large boulder.

She draws in air slowly through slightly parted lips, preventing herself from panting in her exhaustion. Her mind is whirling, considering options. Brigadier Bambera had told them that there was some sort of alien infestation outside Cardiff. She just wasn't expecting the sharp teeth.

Speaking of teeth, she winces as she rubs her shoulder. That wince turns into a full grimace when she realises that her makeshift bandage has come loose some time during their run. Blood tinges her fingertips red and she quickly rubs the stain away on her jeans before the Doctor can see it.

Think, she orders herself. Assets would be good. This area is slightly rocky, more quarry-like than anything. They can keep running, using the rocks to distract and avoid the aliens, but that's only a temporary solution. From what she's seen, and Bambera's report, these aliens don't give up once they've caught the scent of blood.

Which means she's the bait.

She can hear them approaching, the wheezing of their breath echoes oddly against the rocky terrain. There's got to be something they can do. Especially since it's her own bloody fault that she lost her gun when one of the aliens decided she was best suited as a chew-toy.

So shooting them is out. Not that her gun did her any good against them in the first place. No, wait. Terrain. Rocks. Could they cause some sort of…

"Avalanche," she says, giving voice to her thoughts.

The Doctor gives her a strange look, one that swiftly changes to one of excitement. "Oh, that'd do brilliantly. Well, maybe. I could lure…"

She shakes her head, placing her hand on his arm to curb his words. "They'd still come after me. I'm wounded, after all." She offers him a shaky smile. "It'll have to be me. Suppose there's a handy cliff or something nearby?"

He frowns, clearly unhappy with her solution. "Should be at least a ledge of some sort. Maybe a hill. A respectable cliff might be asking for a bit much, especially around here. I could..."

She smiles slightly. "Only way, yeah? 'Sides, you're not getting rid of me that easily." There seems to be some sort of gentle rise off to their left. She suspects, or rather hopes, that that slope will become a hill. Preferably a rocky hill.

The sounds are getting louder. They can't stay here. Not with the creatures so close. "Wish me luck," she says and presses her lips against his in a swift kiss, leaving him blinking at her in shock.

Before he can say anything else, she runs, slipping slightly when her foot hits a loose stone. She doesn't bother to turn to look behind her; she knows that the aliens are following her. She can hear them as they scramble over rock and bramble to chase her across the terrain.

The ground is starting to slope upwards, a gentle rise that, from what she can see, turns steeper the farther in. It's gratifyingly rocky, which means precarious footing but prime avalanche material. She thinks she can hear the Doctor shouting something, but she can't spare enough attention to try and make it out. She's got to climb and she can't fall.

She makes a mistake some twenty feet up the hill when she glances through the space between her arm and her body. The aliens are almost within touching distance. Grimly, she forces herself to move faster.

Her shoulder throbs in time with her movements, with the beat of her heart. She has to go quickly. She has to reach the top, start an avalanche and escape. She has to.

She promised.

She's leaving blood behind, staining the rocks beneath her torn hands as she struggles up the slope. If she stops, even for a second, they'll be on her. The higher she goes, the greater the avalanche, she rationalises. She can't pause, can't rest, can't give up. Her brow creases as she scans the rocks above her. She's almost to the top…

And her foot slips, sending stones tumbling down the hill behind her, a miniature version of what she wants to cause. She's about to continue when she feels it touch her foot, her ankle. A hard, clawed hand, gaining purchase, slicing skin on its way. She won't scream. She can't scream.

The only thought that consumes her mind is not for her safety, or even for the Doctor. No, her only thought is that this isn't supposed to be how this story ends.

But it does.

* * *

_Jack._

It's a whisper, so soft that he can barely hear it though he wants to answer that voice. There's a hint of a Northern accent there, then Estuary, then Scottish and dozens of other accents. All hints, all aspects, all facets of a voice that he's longed for since Satellite Five.

He wants to answer, but it's so hard. So, so hard in this place between life and death. It's not sleep. He doesn't sleep anymore. He just thinks and passes the time in limbo and that's what this is.

Limbo.

_Jack…come to me._

_I can't_, he wants to answer. He can't join that voice. Can't join the… Doctor? Yes. The Doctor. Not when he's… He's what?

His mind's fragmented. Memories jumbled and torn. Life and death hold no power over him so he lives in that space between.

_Jack._

_Doctor…_

_Not exactly._ The voice changes again and he remembers. Oh, god he remembers that Bilis tricked him. He thought it was the Doctor and it was Bilis and…

_Such a fascinating mindscape, Captain. I do believe that I will enjoy this._

Fear, desperate and gasping, claws through him as he tries to withdraw. He tries to wrap his mind in a protective cocoon, but he can't. Bilis is too strong, he's too drained and he can't fight this.

_No_, he protests against this treatment, against the voice, against the darkness that threatens to consume him again. Part of him fears that, if he gives in, he'll never wake again. In some ways that's a blessing, in others it frightens him.

He's not supposed to die just yet. A devil couldn't defeat him. Yet he thinks that Bilis is something else entirely. Not a devil, he thinks. If possible, Bilis might be even more dangerous. No. He won't give in. Not now, not ever.

He's got scores to settle, places to go, people to see.

The fight might be futile, but it's all he has left.

* * *

The Doctor shouts a wordless cry of denial as he watches the Relnatix warrior touch Rose. Something cold encases his hearts as he pulls out his sonic screwdriver. If Rose dies, Relnatix and all its peoples will suffer.

Starting with the ones here.

Holding the device loosely between his fingers, he thumbs the controls and prepares himself. Rose's idea is a good one. An avalanche could stop them. Not much else would, but an avalanche complete with broken bones and bodies would do nicely. Rose didn't wait for him to say anything about his sonic screwdriver, about him causing the avalanche rather than her.

No, she went off and did it herself. Got herself into trouble and (he's not ready to lose her again, not so soon) he's not sure if he can save her in time. But he has to.

He holds the sonic screwdriver aloft, aiming it at the area just below Rose's position. If he can loosen those rocks, perhaps the Relnatix warrior will release her as it attempts to maintain its footing. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Maybe he'll learn how to fly under his own power.

Grimly, he presses the button to activate the device, sending powerful waves of sonic energy (he thanks the day that he went to Donna's wedding reception, the sound equipment gave him so many ideas) towards the hill.

It starts with a low rumble. Rocks begin to teeter, shake, roll. Small stones, large ones, nothing escapes the sonic blast. He can only hope that Rose holds on.

The rock slide causes a large cloud of dust to rise over the landscape, obscuring his vision and hiding the one sight that he so desperately wants to see from him. The roar of sound is deafening, overwhelming even the pounding of his hearts.

He wants to rush forward, try to find her, but he knows it's foolish. He has to wait until the storm is over, even though waiting has never been one of his strongest suits.

As the dust settles, he begins to breathe again – when had he stopped? – when he sees Rose still clinging to her precarious position against the face of the hill. However, she's not alone. The Relnatix warrior is still holding onto her leg. And it's gaining purchase.

He doesn't care about precarious footing, he doesn't even think; instead he runs. Towards her, towards Rose, towards the Relnatix in vain hope that he can stop it in time. He's barely at the base of the hill when he hears it.

A gunshot.

It echoes ominously across the landscape, bouncing off fallen rocks and ground in sharp retort. He stumbles to a stop in reaction, his gaze drawn upwards. He sees the Relnatix jerk as its clawed hand relaxes in what must be death as it tumbles down the incline. There're shouts now, cries of 'hold on' and 'we're coming' from somewhere nearby, but he doesn't care. His attention's on Rose.

"Rose!" he says as he starts to climb to her. He can tell that she's shaking, shaking so hard that she can barely hold onto the rocks without losing her purchase. The avalanche was far too thorough, he thinks, as he scales the hill. There are few hand-holds and even fewer places where he can gain enough leverage to haul himself upward.

"'M okay," she says softly as soon as he's within hearing distance. He gets the impression that it's not the first time she's said it in the last few minutes. "The alien-"

"Relnatix," he corrects her as he slips a supporting arm around her torso.

"- didn't hurt me. Just tore my jeans, that's all."

He frowns, noticing blood coating her leg. She's either lying or the adrenaline's keeping her from feeling the pain. "We've got company," he tells her, hearing the sounds of at least three pairs of feet hurrying towards them.

A look of panic flashes in her eyes as she looks over his shoulder. "Doctor, they're Torchwood. We've got to go."

Anger pools in the pit of his stomach. Torchwood. It'd have to be them. He might owe them Rose's life, but he also owes them for their first separation. "We can-"

She shakes her head sharply, wincing a little at the effort. "No. Please, Doctor. We've got to go. I'll tell you later, yeah? They jus' can't see us. Not properly. Please…"

He doesn't like it but he nods. "Think you can get down the hill?"

Rose glances downward before meeting his eyes. "My shoulder's pretty torn up. I don't think I could crawl down that."

"Right. Up it is." They'll have to leg it once they reach the top, of course, but that's fairly par for the course. He's grateful that it's not too far. Rose's face is rather pale and he doesn't like that one bit. The sooner he can get her back to the TARDIS, the better.

Any delays…

He shakes his head and helps her upwards. At least, he reasons, their friends from Torchwood will have to climb to reach them. That should give them enough of a lead to leave the area before they are caught.

Hopefully.

* * *

Torchwood. Bloody hell, it'd have to be them. She grits her teeth as the movement jars her injuries, but she knows that she can't pause. Not if it means that Torchwood will get their hands on them.

She's surprised, really, when she doesn't hear Jack's voice shouting for them to stop.  
All she can hear is Toshiko's cry of 'wait' and someone else's shout of 'hold it'. That, at least, is a blessing, if a little confusing. Jack wouldn't let them go. Then again, Jack would probably find the TARDIS and stop them that way.

God, she hasn't mentioned Jack, though she's thought of him, to the Doctor. Each time she's tried, the words wouldn't come. Now she doesn't have a choice. She has to tell him.

It'll be enough of a shock to see Jack again. For him, she knows he'll be stunned, perhaps even speechless (which is a startling thought). For her, guilt still crawls through her at the thought of what she did. With him, to him. That she thought she could use Jack as a means to an end...

She blinks back tears, telling herself that they're from the sharp wind rather than from her thoughts. Once they reach the top, she lurches into a run, hand-in-hand with the Doctor. His coat slaps against her legs, but she doesn't care. It's another chase, but this is one they must win.

If Jack's waiting for them, what'll he do? For that matter, what'll she do?

She shakes off the thought, focusing her attention on running across the uneven ground. Each impact of her feet against the earth sends new bursts of pain through her body – both from her leg and her shoulder. She knows that she's bleeding, perhaps badly, from her wounds.

It doesn't matter, though. They've got to run. She won't be a hindrance here. They've got to make it back to the TARDIS.

Jack wants the Doctor to extract some sort of revenge. That much she got from her last encounter with the man. Before, of course, other considerations –

_Kisses, licks, nibbles, hands brushing against her body, things that she wanted once from him — though she wants the Doctor more — and she curses herself for her weakness. She can't stop him. Doesn't want to stop him._

_He slides her suit jacket off her shoulders, peppering her newly revealed skin with more kisses and licks._

- had interrupted them.

Biting her lower lip, she forces herself to move faster. She can hear Toshiko behind them, crying out for them to wait. Jack's still not there. She still can't hear his voice. Perhaps she doesn't have to fret about encountering him again.

The TARDIS looms before them and somehow she manages another burst of speed. She tells herself that she isn't worried that Jack hasn't found them yet. Nor is she worried that Torchwood will reach them before the Doctor can open the door.

"It's the TARDIS!" Toshiko exclaims.

She wonders how this Tosh knows what the TARDIS is, let alone what it looks like. It doesn't matter in the greater scheme of things, she knows, but the thought's there. That's when she recalls Yvonne Hartman's uncanny recognition of the ship as well. There is an answer.

It's called Torchwood.

"Oi! Hold it right there!" someone else, a male voice, shouts.

The Doctor fumbles in his pocket for the key and she readies herself to fight. She won't let them take him. And she won't, most especially, let them hurt him. Before she can do more than loosen her stance, the Doctor is ushering her inside, slamming the door behind them.

"See? Running for our lives? Simple." He clicks his fingers as he grins at her, that grin faltering as he sees her expression. "Rose, let's get you to the medical-"

"No," she says, shaking her head, feeling as if she has to say this now. It's been festering inside her for too long. Her injuries can wait. "That can wait. There's something I've got to say. I waited for too long an', well, it's got to be said."

There's confusion in his eyes as well as a growing fear. She knows what that is. No matter how many times she tells him he's stuck with her, he still clings to that bit of doubt that tells him she won't. "What is it?"

"It's… God, this is hard." She turns away from him for a moment, bracing herself against the comforting strength of the TARDIS's wall. She hurts too much to cushion this particular shock. She has to tell him. "Doctor, it's Jack. He's alive."

She hears him draw in a startled breath and the brush of fabric as he moves close enough to touch her uninjured shoulder. "That's impossible."

"So am I," she says as she turns to face him, meeting his gaze with her own. "'S impossible for me to be here, but I am. Why not Jack?"

"He's dead," the Doctor replies, shaking his head in denial. "He can't just, oh, pop up again like a daffodil in spring."

She wrinkles her nose at him and he shrugs somewhat sheepishly. "Well, bad metaphor. Thing is, that's impossible. He can't do that. No-one can."

"You can," she replies. "Oh, I know, Time Lord and all that. Thing is, what if he wasn't dead? What if we just left him on Satellite Five?"

He blanches. "You can't survive a Dalek, Rose. I heard him die."

"I saw him. A little over a month ago in Cardiff. He..." Her voice trails off as she protectively wraps her arms around herself, wincing as the pain almost blinds her. This has to be said, she knows. He has to know. She can't let her injuries stop this discussion, even though she doesn't know how he's going to react, what he's going to do. React with anger, yes. But what else?

"And you didn't tell me?" There it is. That's the anger she was expecting, though the betrayal is something else. There's something in his eyes that would be frightening for anyone other than herself, but she boldly faces it.

"No," she says, feeling somewhat light-headed. "I just couldn't. I had to sort things out before I could say anything. I'm sorry, I jus' couldn't say…"

"You had to sort things out." There's an unfamiliar sneer in his voice as he drops his hand from her shoulder, leaving her feeling bereft as the pain roars through her. "Don't you know what this could mean? Jack Harkness was supposed to die on Satellite Five. Time doesn't lie about that sort of thing, Rose. A living, breathing Jack Harkness wandering about Cardiff? That's bad. Very, very bad. Terribly bad. And your keeping this from me could destroy everything!"

She sways, not really hearing his words, though she knows they're important. Her heartbeat throbs in her head as the pain reaches a new crescendo. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, she thinks. "Doctor…"

He stops mid-rant, his eyes widening in shock as he reaches for her, holding out his hands. She feels him touch her shoulders, sees him mouth her name, as her vision begins to tunnel.

The last thing she sees before unconsciousness claims her is his face. And the last thing she hears is him calling her name.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Unravelling

**Chapter 2: Unravelling**

Pain.

It roars through his body, echoes through his mind and distracts him from everything else. He feels drained somehow, like half of him is missing and only just now beginning to trickle back in spurts. He can't seem to focus, though. Each time he tries, his thoughts are too nebulous to congeal, leaving him with little to nothing to think about.

At least he remembers who he is. Well, who he is today and will be tomorrow and the next day ad nauseum. The last time he woke up feeling like this he'd spent a very long and not-so-pleasurable night in the clutches of a Nexfarian. There was a reason humans feared succubae, after all.

Something tells him that this, whatever this is, doesn't have anything in common with that. He hadn't dreamed when he was with the succubus. This time, he thinks he has. Or did. But even the fragmented memories are too much to hold onto. He remembers limbo, or something like it, and a voice.

A voice that…

It sounded like the Doctor. No, not the Doctor. Bilis. Bilis fucking Manger.

He forces himself not to move, not to indicate that he's awake, to let himself seem as if he's still succumbed. Now he remembers. There was the sound of the TARDIS, but it wasn't the TARDIS. Bilis seems to have the ability to alter reality, or else one's perception of it. That man made him think that the Doctor was finally coming for him.

It was a trap and he fell for it hook, line and sinker.

The pain that courses through his body doesn't seem to have one source. Rather every joint, every muscle, every portion of his self aches. He suspects that he might've died again and been resurrected.

Damnit. The question is, where is he? Now that he's somewhat more aware – despite the distraction of his hurts – he focuses on his senses. His eyes are closed and only training keeps him from moving, from opening them, from looking around to see where he is. He's not ready for Bilis to know that he's awake.

Something tells him that's what Bilis is waiting for. So he won't give him that particular pleasure. Not until he's good and ready.

Vision is out. He focuses on his hearing. There's a faint dripping sound, like water trickling from a ceiling. Each time the water – if that's what it is – hits the surface of what can only be a pool it makes a loud plopping noise that echoes faintly. That gives him a rough estimate of how large this place is.

It smells like mould, or some sort of mildew. There's another smell underlying the mildew, but he can't separate it from the other, far stronger, scent. A cave, perhaps?

It feels like he's strapped to something. Something stiff is wrapped around his torso, his wrists and his ankles, keeping him held against some sort of flat surface. A rock? A table? His sense of touch isn't reliable at the moment. Each time he thinks he feels something, pain shoots through him again, almost as if in answer.

Really, if he's strapped to a table in a cave it seems like he's been plopped into the centre of one of the worst twentieth (or twenty-first) century clichés regarding villains and their secret lairs. Dark, dank caves? Probably the home of a super-villain of some sort.

He doesn't understand why, though. Why did Bilis take him? And why did Bilis use an image of the TARDIS to capture him?

No, that's a stupid question. What's the quickest way to get him to run? The mention or the sound of the one place he felt that he could call home. Of course he'd come. Quickest way to do it, really. And Bilis knew that.

But how?

"Oh, there's no need to think so furiously, Captain. It's a bit distracting, you know. I'll tell you why if you really wish to know," Bilis says from somewhere to his left, sounding somewhat amused.

He bites back a curse as he opens his eyes. There's no point to keeping up the pretence. He can see that he's strapped to some sort of table. And, yes, he's in a cave. No, not a cave. There're bricks… Oh. _Oh._ He's in one of the tunnels. The faint reddish hue of the bricks on one of the walls is a dead giveaway. Possibly one of the tunnels that connects the Hub to London, or once did. He can't see much further beyond the faint light of a single lantern, but it's enough to tell.

"What do you want?" he asks, turning his head to try and find Manger.

"At the moment? I've already got what I want, Captain. Thank you." Bilis steps into the light, a small smile on his face. "I'll take more later, though. It is nothing personal."

He blinks, confused. "I don't understand."

The older-looking man – if that's what he really is – shakes his head. "You're so bright and you don't even realise it. You burn in four dimensions, practically screaming your presence through time. Is it any wonder that you were brought here, Captain? Do you really not know what you are?"

"Let me go, Bilis. I don't have time for this," he says, trying to think of possible ways out of this particular mess. His people at Torchwood must know that he's missing, but there's no guarantee that he's even in Wales anymore. This tunnel could be anywhere, any when. He can't count on a rescue from that front.

"Time? Time? Oh, Captain, you've got nothing _but_ time. You might even say that you're a permanent source of time. It passes you by, avoids touching you no matter how much you wish it would. It's a part of the Rift as much as you are. Nothing but time. Do you understand?"

"Who _are_ you?" he asks, pulling at his bindings though it proves ineffective.

"I've always wondered, Captain. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" Bilis counters, his eyes glittering eerily in the light.

Bad Wolf. Those words. Oh, oh no. He's heard them before. When he was with the Doctor and Rose, he heard them. He thought they meant nothing but what if they didn't? What if...?

"Is that you? Is that who you are? The big bad wolf?"

Bilis laughs. "No, Captain. That's you. At least a part of you. As for me? Well, I suppose you could call me the huntsman."

* * *

She sleeps on her side, curled into a position that he doubts is comfortable but one that he doesn't dare shift her from. He watches her, counting each breath she makes, each sigh, each shift of her body and each movement of her eyes beneath the eyelids. Of all the stupid, hair-brained ideas he could've had. He knew she was hurting. He saw the blood.

He knew she was barely staying awake, blood loss causing her to slow down. He knew that she hurt. He knew. And what did he do? What did he bloody well do? No, he didn't try to heal her. Instead he let himself lose control.

He yelled at her. Yelled. At. Her. When she was on the verge of collapse. When she was on the verge of dy… No. He will not think it. It didn't happen. She's fine. A little sore around the edges, maybe a bit weak, but fine.

He can't help himself as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger against her skin. Rassilon, what has he done? "I'm sorry," he whispers, closing his eyes against the damning sight of her prone form.

In the silence that's only punctuated by her soft breathing, he lets himself consider her earlier words. He thinks about what they could mean when his mind's not clouded with the mingled worry, anger and frustration of earlier.

Jack's alive.

Rassilon, Jack's alive and he left him… No. Jack should've died. He should have joined ranks with Adric, Katarina and all the others that he's cared for and lost in his long lives. He didn't, though. Jack defied even that convention. Instead, he's alive and he doesn't know what sort of effect that might have on the web of time.

_I bring life._

It's so simple now, easy, to realise what those words must've meant. He's fairly certain that Rose doesn't remember exactly what happened on Satellite Five. Unlike him, of course. He can still see it every time he closes his eyes. Rose, burning within and without with the power of the Vortex. The kiss that saved her life and meant his death.

All those pieces that should've led to one conclusion didn't. He missed them, completely skipped them over. Went on with his life, thinking that one more good man had died.

He was wrong.

Jack's alive.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think of possible courses of action. There's no question that he's got to see him. Time (not to mention his conscience) demands it. There's got to be consequences. Nothing like Bad Wolf can come and go without leaving some impact behind.

On him. On her. On Jack.

She shifts in her sleep, one hand reaching towards him, her brow furrowed. Part of him wants to reach out, to grasp her hand, for his own reassurance. However, he's still harbouring a measure of anger over her actions.

Can he truly blame her when all she wanted was to save someone she cared about? When he doubts that he wouldn't've done the same in her place?

The consequences, though. He can't ignore them. It takes a moment to reach towards her, to try to touch her temple, to touch her mind. He isn't strong enough to attempt this while she's awake. He doesn't want to see the condemnation in her eyes, let alone realise what he's bound to do when he touches her.

There are reasons, many brilliant reasons, why this is a bad decision. The aching blackness in the back of his mind where he once felt the pressure of thousands of minds will never truly heal. The telepathic touch of another might be too much.

_Like Reinette_, he admits, if only to himself.

"Doctor?" she asks and he freezes, mid-reach.

Hiding his earlier movements in the guise of reaching for her hand, he offers her a faint smile. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm sorry," she says, ignoring the question. "About Jack, I mean. That I didn't tell you."

He shakes his head, rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand. "Doesn't matter now. Besides, I should be the one apologising. Keeping you-"

She cuts him off immediately. "Don't. Just don't. It's not your fault. I shouldn't've told you like that. There should've been a better way."

He wants to laugh at the irony. That's the story of his life. There should've always been a better way. A way that didn't lead to death, didn't lead to destruction. But, sometimes, he has to acknowledge there is no such thing as a 'better way'. There's just a way and that has to be good enough. "Rose, you were injured. Neither of us was thinking," he replies, offering her that compromise. He won't absolve himself of this guilt.

Her lips quirk into a faint smile, though he knows that she realises he hasn't forgiven himself for this. "What now?"

"Now? Well, I'd say that 'now' you get to go to bed." He tugs gently on her hand, pulling her into a sitting position. "This place isn't the most comfortable," he says, using his free arm to gesture around the medical room. "And you're still healing."

Rose looks like she's about to object but he sees her wince when she tries to stand. "You're going to find Jack, aren't you?" she asks, once again demonstrating how well she knows him. The thought isn't even fully formed, but she's already guessed.

"Might do." He can allow that much as a response, though he avoids her keen gaze.

"I know that you think that you've got to do this alone. At least, that's what you're tellin' yourself. He's…he's not the Jack we remember." She shuffles her feet slightly and he thinks that she's beginning to regret her words. "He…" Her voice trails off as she seems to search for the words to continue.

"He?" It's a prompt, at least, but he's not sure if she can continue.

"He's angry, Doctor. Angry at you, at me and at jus' about everything. When I saw him last… God, this isn't the easiest thing to tell you. I think he blames you for whatever's happened to him since the Game Station. I don't think it's safe for you to see him. Not alone."

He blinks at her, stunned. Jack was a soldier worn out from war. He knew enough in his past life to recognise that aspect as a pale reflection of himself. For Jack to have re-donned that aura of danger, enough so that it worries Rose, could mean just about anything. Perhaps it's Jack's survival instinct. Perhaps Jack wants revenge.

There's only one way to find out, but something tells him that Rose won't let him go alone. Not this time.

"Jack can wait," he tells her. "I want to look at some of the recordings that UNIT sent us. I don't think that what happened is an isolated incident. Get some rest." And, if he does manage to finish looking at the recordings and find Jack before she's awake, well, he would've given her plenty of time. Right?

She looks sceptical – as well she should, he admits – but nods. "Okay." Giving him one last suspicious glance, she leaves him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

There's something to be said about bondage, he thinks. In the right circumstances, it can be fun. Like that time with those executioners; they really were a lovely couple. And, he does have to admit that he used to be rather fond of leather (especially when it's worn by a certain kind of Doctor). Though he never did understand why pain was considered erotic.

This, however, isn't fun. Each time Bilis comes close to him, touches him, another wave of weakness rushes through him. He feels like he's gone ten rounds with a Weevil, though he hasn't moved much since he's been awake. The bindings see to that, at least.

They're too tight. There isn't enough give – provided, of course, that he felt strong enough – to try and pull free. Instead, he focuses on what he can do. Bilis is still nearby, keeping tabs on him. The wrist computer was removed some time ago and is resting on a nearby ledge. Close enough for him to see, but not close enough for him to be able to do anything about it.

Damnit.

"What are you, Bilis?" he asks, needing to know, wanting to know. Anything that might be able to help.

He hates being powerless.

"You already know what I am, Captain," Bilis says, stepping into the faint light. He thinks it lends the man even more of a sinister aspect, casting Bilis' features in patterns of shadow.

He snorts. "I know what you told me. You're the huntsman."

"What else do we know but what we are told? Some things aren't meant to be understood, only taken as fact."

More riddles. It's frustrating and confusing at the same time. How is he supposed to learn anything when the man talks but tells him nothing?

He suddenly realises that that's something the Doctor's always been good at. He turns his head, meeting the other man's gaze. "What are you?" he tries again.

Bilis merely smiles and fades back into the background, letting the shadows cloak him in darkness once more. He gets the impression that the man's enjoying this, enjoying his impotence, enjoying that he can't do much more than talk.

This truly is getting old. The bondage, the riddles and the aggravation of being able to see a means of escape but not being able to reach it. If he could send a signal of some sort, someone should hear him. Right?

Then again, he doesn't even know if he's in the twenty-first century. Bilis could've travelled through time with none the wiser. The Hub might not even exist at this point in time, let alone his people.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, venting his frustration into words, not truly expecting an answer.

However, an answer comes, one that sends chills down his spine. "Because I can."

* * *

She lies on her side, watching the wall of her room through half-lidded eyes. Her mind refuses to quiet, instead playing over a litany of what-ifs and should've-dones with every passing second. She should've done this, should've done that, should've waited until she was healed before she sprung the news about Jack upon him. Anything to avoid adding another layer of guilt upon his already guilt-laden psyche.

But she didn't. She hadn't. And now she has to live with the consequences, as does he.

Sometimes she really is nothing more than a stupid ape. Even after everything they've been through, after everything they've done and she's learned, it all comes down to her humanity. She can be so ignorant sometimes.

A heavy sigh escapes her as she shifts onto her back, staring at the ceiling. It's different now, she realises. When she was stuck on the other side of the Void, all she wanted was to be back here, to be with him. She had her reasons, of course. Everyone else had someone to replace except for her. She just had a yappy dog.

Now that she's back, now that she's here, with him, it seems that they have an even stronger ability to cut each other to the quick. With words, with actions, with things done and left undone. She did it again. Despite his reassurances, she knows that she hurt him.

Bloody hell.

Sleep won't come now, she knows. That much is obvious. She might as well try to find him, apologise again and, perhaps, ask for and give the comfort of a hug. Pulling herself free of her duvet, she pulls on a robe and shuffles barefoot out her door and into the corridors of the TARDIS.

When she finds him, he's thoughtfully sipping tea in the console room, surrounded by bits of wire and crystal. She's about to announce herself, when he speaks.

"You should be asleep," he says as he moves enough to give her room on the floor next to him.

"Yeah," she agrees, crossing the room and settling next to him. "Couldn't stop thinking, though."

"Ah. Thinking can be a terrible bother," he says wisely, giving her a quick quirk of a smile. That smile falters when he seems to catch something in her expression. "Rose, I don't blame you. You know that, right?"

She nods, laying her head on his shoulder. All she wants, really, is to listen to his hearts beat. In that soothing rhythm, she thinks she can find rest. However, her thoughts won't let her even that measure of peace. There's more that he should know. About her. About Jack. She just doesn't know if she can actually tell him. "I know."

He frees his arm from between them and wraps it around her shoulders. "Good," he replies, dropping a quick kiss against the top of her head.

"Doctor," she begins and stops, fighting against her conscience to try and tell him what happened.

"What?"

"'S about Jack. When I saw him he, we, well, I did something that I shouldn't've. An', well, I thought you should know." God, she can't even spit it out. Can't say it. Can't tell him that she and Jack had had sex. She feels that, in a way, she's committed adultery though she and the Doctor aren't like that (not yet, at least).

She can hear him set aside his cup of tea, moving so he can gently lift her chin to look her in the eyes. She feels exposed now. Bare in a way that she hasn't felt in a long time, if ever. She's the focus of all his attention and she feels as if he can see every sin, every thought, every desire that courses through her soul.

Something changes in his expression, a flicker of understanding, and she thinks he's figured it out. That he knows. "It's okay," he tells her and she does believe him. How can she not, when she sees the truth burning in his eyes?

He leans forward and she thinks he's about to kiss her. This isn't new, though. They've done it before when one of them needs comfort, or reassurance. When one of them needs the touch of another. She likes those moments, craves them, really. To know that he's about to initiate another kiss makes her smile. However, just before their lips touch, the phone rings. A dozen emotions flicker across his expression, settling upon annoyance. "Bugger it," he says and does kiss her, but only briefly.

The Doctor gently disentangles himself from her, each movement punctuated by the demanding ring. When he finally stands and reaches for the phone, the ring is almost thunderous. "Yes?" he asks, his tone sharp. The aggravation fades as he listens to the voice on the line, giving her a startled glance or two as he listens.

"We'll be there," he says and puts down the phone. As he starts setting coordinates, she stands, waiting for him to tell her what's going on.

"It's the Rift," he says without preamble, twisting a knob almost violently. "It's open."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3: Storm Front

**Chapter 3: Storm Front**

This isn't just bad. It's bad with the matched suitcases of bad on the side. He bites his lower lip as he manoeuvres the TARDIS through the Vortex, aiming them for a point where, hopefully, the ripples of the Rift won't disturb their materialisation.

When the first shudder ripples through his ship, he knows that he's made a terrible misjudgement. Should've realised that, actually. The Rift splits down the centre of Cardiff, extending a few miles in either direction, north and south. Any sort of disturbance there would cause echoes to travel in all directions, spreading across the entire world.

There is no such thing as a spot where the effects of the Rift cannot be felt. If it's open, and judging from the readings on the viewscreen it is, no place is truly safe. Not even in the Vortex.

The TARDIS trembles beneath him, a bit harder this time, and he shoots a concerned glances towards the doorway that leads into the interior. Rose disappeared through that door a few minutes earlier, presumably to get dressed. He can only hope that she doesn't manage to get herself injured should this materialisation prove rougher than he's expecting.

A jolt almost causes him to lose his footing and he amends his earlier thought. It's definitely proving rougher than he expected. Clinging one-handed to the console, he reaches with the other towards a lever in an attempt to stabilise their flight.

Another shudder, far stronger than the others, causes him to lose his grip, sending him crashing to his knees. The shock of impact sends a sharp jab of pain through him and he finds that he has to struggle to return to his feet. The tremors are getting more frequent, the TARDIS beginning to scream around him as she attempts to navigate through the temporal waves.

Something tells him that there's far more to this than just the Rift being open. It shouldn't cause something like this, ripples that shudder through time and space, ripples that affect even the parts of the Vortex that only a TARDIS can travel safely through. He would've expected small shudders, maybe a tremor or two, but not this.

Definitely not this.

He reaches the lever finally, practically throwing himself over the console in an attempt to reach it without losing his balance. Though the strength of the waves lessens, it does nothing to affect the frequency. Even small impacts will, eventually, cause the TARDIS to falter.

Materialisation has become a necessity.

Abandoning caution, he pulls himself around the console grimly, flipping switches and pulling levers as he goes. At this point, he doesn't much care where they end up. Right year would be preferred, of course, but he'll make do with what he's got and deal with as it comes.

The pitch of the time rotor deepens, the ship protesting as it begins its materialisation sequence. There isn't much he can do now but hold on. And, he supposes, pray. As the grinding sounds increase, he clenches his hands around the console, letting his thoughts wander towards Rose.

She hasn't reappeared and he resolves to search for her once the danger is over. He needs to reassure himself that she's okay. In the small space of her room or the hallways between it and the console room, anything might've happened. She could've bounced against a wall, given herself an internal injury of some sort. Could've broken something landing wrong.

He's just lost Martha, well, 'just' on a cosmic time-scale means a few months. For losing Rose that first time, it was years. He's not ready to go through that again. Then again, he never is.

Katarina, Adric, Roz, Jack… but not Jack. Not really. Not if the bloke's still alive. But Rose…she could be hurt. Maybe seriously. Temporal grace will only prevent weaponry from going off, not natural accidents. She could be hurt. And he could work himself into a fit if he doesn't stop fretting over what-ifs.

When the TARDIS shudders to a stop, he practically leaps away from the console as he rushes towards the inner door without bothering to check their location. It can wait. Rose might not be able to.

When he reaches the doorway, he almost collides with her, barely avoiding doing so by channelling his momentum into another outlet. That it involves a skidding manoeuvre that lands him on his bum isn't something he's dwelling on. Instead, he's looking at her with the same desperate gaze that she's giving him.

"All right?" they ask in chorus. Moments later, she's bracing herself against the threshold, laughing, and he has to join in with a chuckle of his own, recognising the absurdity of the moment. Part of him is convinced that it's only thanks to the solid strength of the TARDIS that she isn't on the floor next to him.

"Better than a fun fair?" he asks her once they've both calmed down.

She grins, catching her tongue between her teeth as she offers him her hand. "Better with two," she replies.

He grasps it, using her strength and his to shift himself to his feet. "Meant to do that, you know," he tells her.

"What? The bumpy trip or the classic fall?"

He shakes his head and doesn't deign to answer, though he suspects that the mirth that's inevitably dancing in his eyes belies his lack of response. "Seriously, though. Are you all right?"

Rose nods. "'M fine. Bit jostled, yeah, but fine. Ended up bracing myself between my bed an' the wall, away from the bedside cabinet. You?"

"Same. Well, I wasn't braced between your bed and the wall. Bit hard to do that, really, when I was here and you were there and… Right. Yes. I'm fine. So might as well see where we've landed. Wasn't expecting that much of a fun fair ride, really."

"Doctor," she asks, a thoughtful tone colouring her words, "what caused that? I've been here long enough to know the TARDIS's typical landings an' that wasn't one of them."

Part of him wants to object that typical TARDIS materialisations aren't rough, she's just getting on in age, but he holds his tongue. She's keyed into an aspect of this particular journey that's bothered him. "Best way to explain is by using an analogy."

She makes a face that he ignores. Mostly. "The Rift's treating the Vortex like a woman with PMS," he begins. However, before he can expand on that dazzling analogy, Rose smacks his shoulder with the palm of her hand.

"Oi! What was that for?" he asks her, rubbing his injured shoulder and giving her a hurt look.

"A woman with PMS?" Her arched eyebrows are rather eloquent in adding additional impact to her words.

"Right. Bad analogy," he says somewhat apologetically. "The Rift is affecting the Vortex, sending temporal waves through space and time. We were basically tunnelling through those waves, each impact causing tremors to run through the ship. I managed to get us turned so the strength of the waves lessened, but the frequency of the impacts remained. And that's why the materialisation wasn't as smooth as it should've been."

Rose frowns. "Where'd we land?" she asks him and he shrugs.

"Haven't got to that part yet," he explains and pulls her with him towards the controls. A flip of a switch later, he examines the results. "Ah. Correct time zone and…yes. We're in Cardiff. Well, to be specific, we're in Splott."

He wrinkles his nose as he repeats that word. "Splott. Whoever came up with that name must've had a warped sense of humour."

"Okay. An' where's the Brigadier?"

"She's currently trying to get hold of the Cardiff branch of Torchwood. Seems to think that they might have something to do with the Rift problems," he replies. "But they're not answering."

She frowns, but says nothing else, so he grabs his trench-coat from the coat-rack and leads the way towards the double-doors. He can use the sonic screwdriver to try and trace the Rift's energy.

And, from there, try to find a way to close it again. Before the Earth, and possibly the universe, is torn apart from wild temporal energy.

* * *

Time.

It passes in that short space between heartbeats. Between inhales and exhales. Between the steady drip-drip of water impacting upon a tiny pool. Jack can measure it, if he so desires. Count each breath, each beat of his heart, each drip. The problem is that he has lost track of time in its most fundamental aspect.

Day. Night. In the subterranean world that he's found himself locked within, those measures are meaningless. He could've been here for hours, even days, and nothing can truly tell him how much time has passed.

He spends his time struggling against his bindings, hoping against hope that they'll give. However, Bilis has proven far too adept at his craft. He's as stuck now as he was when he first awoke here.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he stares at the darkness that cloaks the ceiling. There's got to be something that he can do. Something that can help his people find him, or to help himself escape. His wrist computer's still unavailable and there isn't any slack in his bindings. The true question is what Bilis' purpose is in holding him here.

Bilis calls himself 'the huntsman'. That's a name, a label, that he's never heard before. Bad Wolf, he knows. He's seen it before. In an abandoned building. In a failed nuclear power project, proposed by a Slitheen. Blazoned across the bulkhead of the Game Station, shortly before he died for the first time. Uttered by the Doctor several times, implying that it was chasing him through time.

But the huntsman? Sure, he remembers the basics of the fairy tale. A wolf in grandmother's clothing. A huntsman who saves the grandchild from being eaten. But that casts the huntsman in the hero's role, something that he doesn't feel is best suited to Bilis Manger.

Then what is he, really? Someone who can walk through time like one can turn the pages of a book, yes. Someone whose very touch seems to sap energy…

His brow furrows as he examines that particular thought. Bilis saps energy. That's the key. He knows how he destroyed Abaddon. He can't die. Abaddon absorbed that energy, his energy, and was destroyed. What if Bilis uses it somehow, perhaps to feed?

A shiver courses through his body as he considers that possibility. Bilis seemed to imply that Jack's composed of time. Or some measure of it. A part of the Bad Wolf, whatever that means.

So Bilis consumes time. It's a working theory and one that he supposes is particularly appropriate. Living on the edge of a rift in time, then having captured him, Bilis has an unlimited supply of energy. He can kill him again and again and it wouldn't matter. He'd survive.

What if that's it? What if he's supposed to be Bilis' never-ending food source? Suddenly escape has gained a new urgency. He doesn't know what Bilis intends, but he knows that it can't be good.

For him or for Cardiff.

Last time Bilis wanted something, he caused Jack's own people to betray him and open the Rift. What if this is something similar? What if…?

God, what if all this mucking about with the Rift brings in the Doctor? The real Doctor and not the fruit of his overactive imagination? And what if that's part of Bilis' goal?

No. No, he's practically tilting at windmills now. He can't make assumptions. Anything is possible, at least when it comes to his captor.

He hears a soft popping sound, one that he believes heralds another of Bilis' disappearing, reappearing elsewhere acts. He suspects that the man is keeping tabs on his team, perhaps leading them astray or watching them fumble as they search for him.

Biting his lower lip, he stares into the darkness. Knowing, or suspecting, Bilis' strengths doesn't give him a clear indication of the man's weaknesses. He doesn't think he can prevent Bilis from taking what energy he needs from him.

Or can he?

Maybe he needs to consider what he is. What he can do. He can't die, yes. He doesn't age. It's like time is holding him in a permanent paused state. Is that it? Time itself isn't letting him die because…

_I bring life._

The words come to the forefront of his mind and he shivers, recalling those moments when life first returned to him. There was pain and a lingering ache that settled somewhere over his chest. Mentally, though, he was confused. He had died. He remembered dying (as he would remember each time in the years to come). Then there were those words and he was alive again.

What if that's it? Time. The Bad Wolf. What if it's all interrelated? What if, somehow, he could control it? Release whatever it is that's stopping him from dying and, in so doing, stop Bilis?

Manger called himself the huntsman. And Jack's, apparently, a piece of the Bad Wolf. A piece of time.

Bilis isn't the only one with power here, he thinks. He just has to figure out how he can use this knowledge, even if he can. There's no guarantee that he isn't chasing after an impossible dream, a myth that he's hoping is true.

Of course he wants to be free, but what if he's reaching for explanations that aren't true? What if he's deluding himself?

"What are you going to do?" he asks, giving vent once more to the frustration that's plagued him since he awoke in this place.

"Do?" Bilis repeats, surprising him by answering. "I don't have to 'do' anything. It's already been done."

"What is?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that that isn't meant for you to know. The pawns are in place and the board is set. I just await the final result."

"Which is?" he prompts, though he knows Bilis will only answer in another riddle.

"No-one knows how the story ends when it's being written, Captain. That would spoil the game."

* * *

There's a hole in the centre of Cardiff.

It's invisible, as much so as a hole of this nature can be, but its presence is felt. Strange occurrences, alien invasions, bizarre behaviour, all can be attributed to the Rift. Generally it's somewhat benign. The odd invasion here or there isn't anything to scoff at, of course, but the human race can handle it. UNIT can handle it.

This, though. This is something different. Its benign nature is an illusion as much as the deceptive calm that rests over the city. Even the animals of Cardiff are strangely hushed, as if they don't dare to break the silence that's clutched the city in its grip.

Bambera had apparently told the Doctor about the last time something like this happened. The Rift was opened and a creature of nightmare had broken free. That creature doesn't exist here and now. Instead energy bleeds freely into the sky, lending the sky a flickering, almost translucent blue-hued glow.

Deep inside her, in parts of her mind that are barely used, she feels something stir in recognition of this sight. She knows it, somehow. Like a fragment of a half-remembered dream, she knows this.

She watches the sky and she feels the Doctor watching her.

"All right?" he asks.

"A storm is coming," she replies, not sure why those particular words have come to the fore of her mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his eyes widen in shock. Whether it's from her words or something else, she can't say. "Rose, what is it?"

She wants to tell him what she feels, to explain what it is that she senses, but the words won't come. Instead, she shakes her head mutely and meets his gaze, unable to give voice to what's wrong, and threads her fingers through his own, needing that simple contact more than she can say.

The Doctor is worried and she thinks she can see a hint of desperation in his eyes. He doesn't want to lose her again. That's easily read between his breaths, the blink of his eyes. The last time those words were spoken indicated the beginning of the end for them. They heralded the day she first 'died' in this reality.

She doesn't think that the words are a foreshadowing of separation. Instead, she thinks they're the forewarning of something else entirely.

Maybe they are a precursor of a war, or else the end of one. Not the Time War - that was ended as best as it could be. The Daleks are either wiped from time or stuck in the Void. No, it's not the Daleks that she fears.

It's something else entirely.

He doesn't break the silence that stretches between them. Instead, he searches her eyes. She suspects he's trying to read her mind without touching her temples, trying to see what she knows. If he asks, she thinks she'll let him learn. Let him see. Despite how much she knows it'll eventually hurt. However, he doesn't ask and he looks away, returning his attention to his sonic screwdriver and tracing the paths that the Rift's energy has left in its wake.

"It gets stronger in this direction," he tells her and leads her northward, ignoring the strange glances they receive from the passers-by as they walk. A woman being led by a man holding a shiny stick. A smile crosses her face at the imagery. How little they know.

"What do you think we'll find?" she asks quietly. "More Relna-whatever-they-weres?"

"Relnatix," he corrects her and shrugs. "They're attracted to Rift energy, it's true. React badly to temporal fluctuations, really. Might explain why they're always so cranky whenever I come across them. But that's no guarantee that that's what we're going to find.

"Temporally displaced people? Objects that shouldn't exist? Oh, anything's possible when it comes to energy like this. Too many doors are open. It's a game of chance to determine what's going to come through next. Shut one, another opens and another. We just need to shut those doors before something even worse comes through," he says and she doesn't manage to suppress the automatic shiver at his words.

_Something worse_, she thinks. _What if 'something worse' is already here?_

As they walk, she begins to notice tiny changes around her. Fewer people, for one, and those that they do pass don't spare them even the briefest of glances, instead hurrying on their way. The atmosphere is different, too. Tiny tingles run up and down her arms, almost as though her arms have fallen asleep or else are encountering the changes in the air before a thunderstorm.

It's enough to set her teeth on edge and she finds herself slowing, reluctantly forcing herself to make each step forward. When he stops, she barely avoids running into his back. "What if we're going about this all wrong?" he asks, spinning on his heel to face her. He seems somewhat taken aback by how close she is to him, but he doesn't step away.

She can't do more than open her mouth to reply when he continues, "Seems simple, really. Go to the source of the greatest amount of Rift activity. Means that's the source, right?"

He pauses and, thinking he's expecting a response, she replies, "Right."

"Wrong!" he corrects her. "The Rift energy and whatever happens because of it is nothing more than the symptom. Oh, yes, why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it before? It's so simple it's…it's…" He lets go of her hand and paces before her, gesturing wildly with one hand and running the other through his hair.

She's seen him like this before. It's useless to try and say anything now. Best to wait for him to spit it out. Whatever it is.

"Don't look for the strongest emissions of Rift energy! Oh, no. Definitely not. Look for the lack thereof. Look for a calm spot. Surrounded by temporal energy, but nothing there. Yes! That's where we need to go, Rose!" He beams at her, his grin strong enough, she supposes, to power a dozen cities.

That's when it dawns on her. What she's feared has come.

"It's already here," she says, swaying slightly with the realisation. "The storm's already come. And we're going into its eye."

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4: Into the Eye

**Chapter 4: Into the Eye**

The storm's getting worse.

He can feel it as a crawling sensation that creeps up his spine, an itch that he cannot scratch. Before too long, raw time will run rampant through the city, destroying everything it touches. There's nothing here that can protect him, or Rose. If that happens, they'll be as vulnerable as everyone else.

His hand tightens reflexively around Rose's, needing that simple contact to reassure himself of her presence. He's worried, though. Not just about the storm but about her. She knew this was coming. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her words.

She knew.

There's only one explanation for that. Bad Wolf. Even thinking the words sends a chill through him. What if he missed a fragment of the Vortex? What if she still has a piece of Bad Wolf within her still? It doesn't seem to be doing her any harm, but what if? He casts a concerned glance at her, but she doesn't seem to notice.

The Doctor pauses, tugging Rose to a stop as he feels a swell of rogue time sweep across the city. Barely twenty feet in front of them, he sees a piece of a building crumble to dust and be rebuilt in the blink of an eye. It's not the buildings that bother him, though. It's the poor bloke that got hit by one of those waves, caught like an insect in amber, who grows old and becomes a baby again, his face contorted in agony.

"Oh god," Rose says, her eyes wide as she looks at the tormented man. "Can we help 'im?"

He shakes his head sadly. "He's dead and dying at the same time. Even if we managed to pull him out of it, the human mind's too fragile to take forces of that nature and survive. He's gone mad. Bonkers. Two sandwiches short of a picnic…well, you understand. The kindest thing we can do is to close the Rift."

"What'll it do to him if we close the Rift?"

"He'll die," he replies, turning to face her. "He'll be stuck in a state halfway between birth and death. Parts of his body will be young, some will be old. The human body isn't meant to withstand that sort of trauma. Nothing except for a TARDIS is, really. And, even then, she'd be damaged."

They can't save everyone. Though the words remain unspoken, he can see the understanding in her eyes. She knows. Of course she does. Even after they were first separated, he knows that she had her own experiences of times just like this.

It's very rare that a day comes when no-one dies.

There's something hard in her expression when she nods. "We'd better hurry then, yeah?"

He offers her a weary smile as he moves to her side again. "Yeah," he agrees, checking the readings from his sonic screwdriver. "That way." He nods towards their left and, ever mindful of the possibility of another rogue wave of time, leads her away from the dying man.

Silence is now a constant companion as they draw closer to the centre of the disturbance. It's deafening in its own way, he thinks. In a city that should be full of life – the sound of cars, people and even animals – here, there's nothing. Nothing but the sound of their footsteps as they walk across the pavement, and even those are strangely muted.

He tries not to dwell upon what it means, but he's mostly unsuccessful. It's all signs and portents. Danger ahead. Rough waters. Here there be dragons. Dozens upon dozens of warnings, from this world and beyond, tumble through his mind.

The last thing that he wants now is to draw Rose into this storm, but he knows that she won't leave. Even if he somehow manages to succeed, she'd only follow him. And, without his ability to sense the time waves, she could easily get caught in one.

He most emphatically does not let that image linger in his mind.

The temporal emissions are becoming more frequent now. He feels it as a constant ache at the back of his mind. He's had to draw Rose to a stop several times to let those waves pass them by, only luck sparing them from their effects.

When he steals a glance at her, her face is drawn and pale with tension. He first dismisses it as an understandable reaction to the devastation around them. However, when she stumbles, almost toppling to the ground, he realises that he was wrong.

"Rose, what is it?" he asks as he shifts his grip from her hand to her arm, trying to keep her steady.

She doesn't answer for what seems to be an eternity. "'S like there's this pressure in my head. Doesn't hurt, not really, but it's there. An' it's getting stronger. Distracted me, that's all. I'm fine."

A pressure? Getting stronger? If he didn't know better, he'd say that she's feeling the storm.

But how?

That's when he realises the answer's been in front of him all along. Written in bold colours across the building behind her are two words. Words that he thought had been left behind with his last regeneration:

'Bad Wolf'.

* * *

Jack loves the rain. Loves the sound that it makes when it strikes the ground. Loves how it mutes the world around him until there's nothing but him, breathing in the smells of a thousand different places all carried in upon each droplet. In a way, it reminds him of his years travelling through time. The past carries on without him, leaving him as nothing more than an observer, just as the rain continues to fall no matter how much he wishes, sometimes, that it would stop.

He misses the rain. Misses weather. In the darkness of the tunnel, there's nothing. Just the hollow noise of echoes, his breathing, and the drip-drop of water falling into a tiny pool. Here everything is timeless and he feels as if he's truly been caught in a web, slowly being cocooned.

Perhaps he is. Perhaps that's what Bilis wants to do. He is, after all, the man's endless food supply.

"It is time," Bilis says from somewhere in the shadows.

He blinks, trying to force himself to focus upon the words. He knows that he's been here too long. Hunger has come and gone. Water has become a constant desire, his throat scratchy and sore from its lack. As he expected, Bilis has provided him with nothing. Then again, why should he? He can't die. What does it matter if he dies over and over again from lack of food or water?

Focus, he tells himself. He knows that this is somehow important. "Time?" he asks, his voice rough from disuse.

"What do you know about chess, Captain?" Bilis asks.

"Poker's more my game," he replies, still trying to piece together what Manger is talking about.

Bilis makes an indecipherable sound. "Pity, really."

"What's that?"

The man steps closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. "That such a clever mind knows so little. Typical of your species."

Another wave of weakness flows through him, leaving him panting for breath and making his vision start to tunnel. "What are you going to do?" he manages to ask in between breaths.

"Have a rematch," Bilis replies and, with another popping sound, disappears.

A rematch? With whom? For what? And why? These questions pound at his mind, but he pays them no mind. As the darkness swells in to claim his mind, his last thoughts aren't of chess or of Bilis.

They're of water.

* * *

Life, Rose long ago discovered, isn't kind. It isn't gentle or sweet. It doesn't give in, even when the odds are stacked against it. It survives. It can be harsh and terrible and frightening. But that's okay.

Now that she has him again, she can face it with a faint smile and full of confidence. She isn't the only one who needs a hand to hold. Her fingers tighten reflexively around his at the thought and he shoots her a concerned glance.

"'M okay," she tells him, though in reality she's anything but. The city is falling apart around them. Between the waves of time distorting Cardiff, there's also the panic that's gripped the few people that they've seen wandering the streets. It's amazing what a crisis can do, she thinks.

In some cases, civilisation falls apart. In others, it only grows stronger. Here, it's some place in between. There can be no riots. No panic in the streets. No sound of sirens echoing through the city and cries of panic as the world destroys itself around them. Here, there's only a quiet terror. Panic behind closed doors and shut curtains. Most of the city is hiding from itself, worried what can and will be found outside of that apparent safety.

But that's just it. That's the illusion. Safety. Security. The danger's everywhere. Inside or out, she knows that the waves do not distinguish between them. Everything's affected. Everything crumbles to dust and is reborn. Time knows no difference. It touches all things.

She knows what will happen if one of those waves touches her. She'll be another person gone mad, dying constantly, caught until whatever it is that's causing this stops. Then she'll die. Permanently.

There's no coming back from this, she knows. She managed to come back from the alternate universe, but to come back from death?

That's impossible.

Even for him. Regeneration is a death of sorts, yes, and he can defy it. But he changes. Becomes someone else. Same man underneath, yes. Yet she knows that, in this case, the waves would run him through all his regenerations – surely, she thinks, there must be a limit of some sort. He, too, will die.

Nothing can possibly be spared from this.

In the minutes since they last saw the words 'Bad Wolf' scrawled across that building, they've come across more evidence of the time waves that killed that poor bloke from earlier. Trees and objects are twisted, warped by the effects of time in ways that nature itself never intended. The Doctor's stopped them once or twice, his expression grim, even as the pressure that she's been feeling all along increases in magnitude. When they start walking again, she realises that he's stopped them from entering another one of those waves.

Somehow, he's protecting them as best he can.

Rose's thankful that they've yet to come across another person caught in one of those waves. Seeing one was more than enough for her. As is, she suspects she'll have nightmares for weeks after seeing the expression on the man's face.

She's never seen so much agony.

When they cross the line that delineates between the centre of the disturbance and the storm, the change is almost shocking. There's a tree stuck between the eye of the storm and the fiercest of the waves. One part of the tree is straight and tall, its foliage thick and healthy. The other half is gnarled and twisted, seemingly better suited for a place in a dark, menacing forest from a horror film than Cardiff.

She realises that they're the middle of some sort of park. A fountain bubbles merrily in front of them, but beyond it, there's nothing but trees, grass and sky around them. Nothing that seems out of place. Nothing alien or otherwise.

But there's something here. She can feel it in the back of her mind, in the pit of her stomach. A wrongness that emanates from this spot, though she can't see it.

She suppresses a shiver as she watches the Doctor eye his sonic screwdriver before banging it against his palm in frustration. "Oh, sure," he says, glaring at the device. "Say this is it. Centre of it all. Eye of the storm. But there's nothing here. Absolutely nothing."

Biting her lower lip, she focuses her attention on their surroundings. It seems perfectly normal. Everything in its place and a place for everything. There's a playground off to the side and the swings sway in the slight breeze. The only problem is the lack of people.

The time storm doesn't affect the weather, not really. Clouds pepper the sky, breaking up the otherwise clear blue, though she can see something shimmer above them. She thinks that it's the physical manifestation of the Rift's opening rather than anything more sinister. There is something here, but she doubts it's above them.

It's frustrating to realise that they're so close, yet still so far. This is the centre of the storm, but if there's nothing above and there's nothing around them, where could…

A fragment of memory resurrects in her mind, so faint that it's barely an impression, but enough to make her realise that there is something else. Somewhere else, to be exact. In the background information that she had to read in the alternate universe regarding the formation of Torchwood, something stuck out of otherwise meaningless text.

Before zeppelins became common-use and before the automobile, Torchwood kept in contact with its bases across England through a series of railway tunnels. A sort of precursor to the London Underground, though those tunnels were only for official use. Trains carried supplies and personnel between the bases before they were shut down and Torchwood switched to the use of zeppelins.

What if that's another parallel between that world and this? What if this is the centre of the disturbance, only the disturbance itself is underground?

"Doctor, in the alternate universe there was a sort of Underground connectin' Torchwood's bases in London and Cardiff. Don't know if there's something similar here, but what if there is? Could your sonic screwdriver be detecting something, I don't know, beneath us?"

He looks blankly at her for a second before his lips stretch into a familiar grin. "Oh, that's brilliant, that is. Absolutely brilliant!" He tugs her into a one-armed hug, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, before spinning away from her again, his free hand gesturing wildly. "Of course! Stick it underground. Hidden in a tunnel where no-one can see it, then rip the Rift apart. That'd do it nicely!"

Suddenly, that seems to be too easy. The simple explanation. Find the alien technology, destroy it, close up the Rift. Far, far too easy.

She opens her mouth to reply when she hears the sound of slow clapping from somewhere behind her.

"Oh, bravo. Bravo," someone says.

It takes a moment to turn around, eyes widening in shock when she realises that they're not alone. The man - at least she assumes it's a man – looks old, both literally and figuratively. The cravat and suit seem as out of time as he does and she can easily see him as a fussy museum curator. She feels the Doctor tense beside her.

"I was wondering if you'd figure it out," the man continues, dropping his hands to rest at his sides.

"Who are you?" the Doctor asks, shifting so he's standing slightly in front of her. Protecting her, as always.

Sighing softly, she moves beside him, so they're standing shoulder-to-shoulder. If there's danger, as she suspects there is, they will face it together. She can feel him glance at her, but he says nothing.

"Who is a function of what and why. To answer one requires an answer to it all, and you have most of the pieces already. And, if not you, then the child at your side. That, at least, never changes… Or has it?" The man's eyes narrow as he takes a step closer, his gaze sweeping over them both. A delighted laugh emerges from the man's lips as he focuses upon their clasped hands.

"How far have you fallen, I wonder?"

"Who. Are. You?" The Doctor repeats himself, enunciating every word carefully. "Did you cause this? Open the Rift?"

The smile that stretches the man's features can only be called oily. "Cause and effect are very passé, my dear Doctor. If you truly cannot piece together this particular puzzle, I suppose I could be persuaded to give you a hint. But only one."

She knows what this is. Riddles and fragments of information. Saying so much, yet so little at the same time. It's not telling them what they need to know. It's a delay. It's… "This is nothin' more than a silly game," she pronounces and she feels tainted when the man's gaze turns to rest upon her.

"A game? Oh, clever, valiant child-" She does shiver then, hearing an echo of the Beast's words in the man's voice. "- that it is. A game. Black against white. A game of chess, with all the pieces arranged for the final battle."

The Doctor stills at her side and, when she looks at him, she sees his jaw tense. "Fenric," he whispers, disbelief colouring his tone.

The man – Fenric? – smiles, the expression triumphant. "Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf?" he asks and then disappears with a faint popping noise.

"What on Earth-?" she starts to ask, turning towards the Doctor.

He shakes his head mutely, holding a finger to his lips. Though she frowns, she does as he asks and keeps quiet. Perhaps this Fenric person is still around. The thought is as chilling as the man himself.

It can't be a transmat, can it? There was that popping noise, but last she recalls of transmats, there's generally a flash of light. Teleports just fade into nothing, so that can't be it. There was no fading. No gradual disappearance. No bright flash of light. Just one second he was there, the next, gone. Then again, she knows that there's plenty that she hasn't seen or done. Perhaps there is some logical explanation for Fenric's disappearance.

The Doctor lets go of her hand and focuses on his sonic screwdriver, changing settings and mumbling to himself. She has to be content for now to let him try and figure things out, but she does have to wonder.

Fenric knew the Beast's words. He didn't say them, not in their entirety, but she got the impression that he knew them. Knew their importance and how they impacted her. She wraps her arms around herself against a chill that has no physical cause.

"He's gone," he finally says, breaking the silence, glaring at the sonic screwdriver as if it is the source of all his woes. "He's just…gone."

"Who's Fenric?" she asks quietly, sensing that this is a difficult subject for him.

"How'd I put it? Ah, yes. Evil from the dawn of time. Though with a lot more rolling of my 'r's and a lot more melodrama. I was good at that sort of thing, you know. But that's impossible. He can't be Fenric. I defeated that creature, oh, centuries ago. He can't be back," he replies, shaking his head.

"Does it really matter if he is or isn't? Fenric or not, he's got to be stopped, yeah? An' we know that his lair is somewhere beneath us, so we'll just need to find some sort of entrance into the Underground." It's not much of a plan, admittedly, but it's a plan. She suspects that knowing if this bloke's Fenric or not is important in some way, but she doesn't know how it could be. A way of defeating him, perhaps, or else a weakness?

She sighs softly. Speculation will get them exactly nowhere.

He nods his agreement, stretching out his hand for hers again. She walks a few steps, stretching out her hand for his, when she hears the faint shuffle of footsteps behind her. The Doctor's eyes are wide in shock, his hand with the sonic screwdriver swinging towards her.

She knows that Fenric's behind her. That's the only explanation.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" Fenric asks, his breath brushing against her ear. Arms wrap around her, securing her limbs against her body. Everything seems slow, now. The Doctor's movements. Her own.

She tries to fight back, but lethargy seeps into her muscles, leaving her feeling weak. "No!" she tries to shout, but her voice only comes out in the faintest of whispers.

"Not me," Fenric finishes the saying.

The Doctor shouts a denial and she thinks she starts to hear the hum of the sonic screwdriver. However, it's too late.

There's that faint popping noise again.

Then the lethargy sweeps over her, causing her to sag against her captor.

And then there's nothing at all.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5: Counterattack

**Chapter 5: Counterattack**

Jack Harkness knows what it's like to die.

It can be silent, a swift hunter that grabs at the least expected moment. It can be loud and brash, full of pain and longing. It can be short, like a bullet to the brain. Or it can be slow, like the long, gnawing death from starvation.

Long ago, after he first realised he couldn't truly experience death, he discovered that, no matter what, dying hurts. There're always regrets. Not finding the right kind of Doctor. Not saying the right thing. Not telling someone that you love them one last time or even for the first time.

Each time he dies, he hates it just that much more since it's a never ending cycle. Death. Life. There is no such thing as the first for him, and what's the meaning of the second? Shouldn't life be defined by a finite expanse of years? Shouldn't life be spent living as opposed to hiding?

He's even more a conman now. Despite everything that's happened to him, this is his ultimate con.

He lives.

When consciousness begins to return, the slow burn within his chest telling him that, once again, he died, he realises that he isn't alone. There's someone touching him. Softly, gently, as if the person is afraid or disbelieving. Perhaps there's despair in that touch as well. What confuses him for a long moment is that there is no accompanying weakness with that touch. Instead, there's comfort. There's a feeling of belonging that doesn't fit with his current situation.

The hand is slender, at least from what little he can tell through layers of cloth and the straps that hold him down. He can hear someone's breath, the soft choking sound of a sob barely restrained and the whisper of cloth against cloth as the person shifts beside him.

The touch becomes more of a caress as a sob echoes through the room. A tear splashes onto his chest and he realises that he knows that sound. Knows that voice. Knows that touch.

His eyes open and he meets the startled gaze of Rose Tyler.

"Rose," he whispers.

"Oh, god, I thought you were…" Rose's voice breaks as she does her best to embrace him, though her movements are hampered by the bindings. "Jack, what happened? How'd he-" The emphasis she places on the word gives him no doubt as to who she means. "-get you?"

"A trick," he replies, moistening his lips. He wishes he could return her hug, wishes he could do more than just talk, but he can't. Not really. Not like this. Their earlier encounter, so long ago now, is all but forgotten. She's here. God, she's here.

The words suddenly stick in his mind. She's. Here. Rose is here. Another captive, perhaps? Or another trick?

"Rose, how can you be here? The-" He cuts himself off, not willing to reveal the Doctor's name to Bilis, especially since there's no guarantee that this is his Rose.

If she notices how he's cooled towards her, she doesn't make it apparent. "There's trouble," she says, her expression grim. "The Rift's open. The Brigadier called us in an', well, Fenric managed to get his hands on me."

"Fenric?" he repeats, categorising everything she says in a tally of known truth and suspected falsehood. Bilis could know all of this. Know about Rose. Know about UNIT's Brigadier Bambera.

It's not unheard of, after all. Everyone on his team – even, he acknowledges, himself – saw someone or something they cared for at Bilis' behest. All of that was a lie. This could be a lie. How can he be sure? How can he know?

"Yeah. 'S the bloke's – whatever he is – name. The one that got me an' got you," she replies, frowning slightly as she tries to untie him. He can feel some of the bindings loosen ever so slightly, but they seem to be defying her attempts.

"His name's Bilis Manger," he corrects her and she blinks slightly at him, apparently confused.

"'S not-" She shakes her head, putting more effort into freeing him. "Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Names don't count, not really. Could be Fenric. Could be Bilis."

"Rose, you're free. Just get out of here. Leave me here and go," he tells her, unable to help himself. He knows that Bilis will never let him go. As long as Rose has a chance, she should take it, even if she is nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

"Even if I was free, I wouldn't go," she tells him and he hears something clanking as she moves, a noise that corresponds with the subtle tightening of the bindings around his lower torso. "You're stuck with me. Somewhat literally. Least I can do is try to make this a bit more comfortable."

A frown crosses his face as he considers both her words and her actions. He doubts Bilis would bother to make that much of an effort. Which means it is Rose.

Damnit. Damnit all to hell. She did have to get herself captured, didn't she?

He wants to ask about the Doctor. He wants so many things, really. Too many to count or quantify. Too many to give voice to. He wants to be able to talk freely with Rose, to apologise for his actions the last time they met. He wants to see the Doctor, to talk to him, to snog him or to throttle him.

He wants freedom. A means of escape that won't result in another useless death and resurrection. He wants so much. But that's what life is, he reasons. Wanting. Needing. Desiring. He knows what it truly is that he wants. That he needs. That he desires.

It's death, but he doubts it'll come for him. Not now and not ever.

Sometimes, life is highly overrated.

He's about to talk to her again, to ask about what's happened since he last saw her, perhaps, when he's interrupted.

"How very touching," Bilis says, speaking from somewhere in the darkness behind Rose.

Her eyes are wide, shocked, for a moment before they narrow. He's seen that look before and knows what he means. He tries to warn her, but she turns from him, blocking his expression from her view. "What the hell do you want?" she snaps. "Why'd you hurt him? Why are you doing this?"

Bilis laughs. "A fighting spirit. Someone who will fight, even kill, for those she loves. It's been a long time since I've last seen your like, my dear. Even then, it wasn't the same."

"Answer me!" Rose's voice turns into a snarl and he suspects that, if she were free, she'd be after Bilis' throat.

"An answer requires the proper question. But I suppose I can be giving, just this once. I've already got what I want, child." He can see Bilis now, just outside of the light, a pleased expression etched in his gaunt features.

Though he can't see her face, he knows that Rose blanches when she presses slightly into him. "Me," she says. "You want me."

* * *

She's gone.

Just like that. Poof! Well, more like 'pop'. And he's left pointing his sonic screwdriver at absolutely nothing. No Fenric. No Rose. Nothing. Nada. Zip. That's impossible. Absolutely, completely and utterly impossible.

He's really starting to hate that word.

The Doctor knows that he wouldn't've forgotten something like this. An ability to pop in and out of a scene with nothing more than a figurative twitch of a nose or blink of an eye? That would've required a completely different strategy than the one he'd used all those centuries ago. Here there are no pawns. No kings, queens, bishops, knights or rooks.

There's just him. There's Rose. There's Fenric. And Cardiff, not to mention Rose, hangs in the balance.

This is a completely new game with unknown rules. This is a new Fenric. New Doctor, too, and that's an advantage. Has to be. So he has to think. To regroup. To mull over his assets, his capabilities and just what he's willing to do to win.

How Machiavellian of him, really.

Absently scratching the back of his head, he considers his options. Before Rose was captured and long before Fenric appeared, he wanted to find the centre of the disturbance. The source that, he's since learned, is underground. Beneath his feet, to be precise.

Logically – well, Fenric runs by his own rules, but there's some logic within it – he'll find his answers there. The source. The centre-point. The true eye of the storm, rather than the too-silent park.

The problem, and it's a rather large problem, is that he doesn't see any means of getting there without a shovel and far more time than he has available to spend. No. No, no. He has to think.

Turning slowly in a circle, he eyes his surroundings. There are no subterranean entrances here… Oh, of course not! He hasn't even been thinking. Middle of a city, thousands of people and it all requires one thing to make it work. Just one.

A sewer.

Sometimes he wonders if anyone even realises just how important a silly little thing like a sewer is to civilisation. Without it, oh, it'd be the Dark Ages all over again. Admittedly, it could easily become the Dark Ages if he doesn't hurry.

Sewer systems have this lovely tendency of having access points at ground level. After all, someone's got to go inside to make repairs. Makes sense, really. All of which leads to one conclusion.

Well, two. One, he's going to get dirty. And two, he's about to leave the relative safety of the eye of the temporal storm. In a tunnel of barely ten feet across, there isn't anywhere to run or to hide if another wave passes through.

He'll just have to cross that particular bridge when he comes to it. If he does. Thus resolved, he pockets his sonic screwdriver and heads out of the park. If he's lucky, there'll be an entrance to the sewers close by.

Hopefully.

* * *

He wants her.

There's hunger in Fenric's (or Bilis') eyes that sends chills down her spine. It's not a sexual longing, no. It's the look that a predator gives its prey. Well, too bad.

She squares her shoulders and glares at him, shifting so that she's firmly between him and Jack. "Let Jack go," she tells Fenric, proud that her voice doesn't waver. "If it's me you want, you don't need 'im. He can go."

"Rose, no," Jack says and she can hear him trying to shift, trying to touch her though she's out of reach.

"We can make a deal," she says, her mind whirling with the implications of Fenric's earlier words. To the Doctor. To her. Could all this be linked? Could Bad Wolf have something to do with this?

The older-looking man smiles. "Why?"

"'Cause this is how it's gonna go. You'll let Jack go and you get to keep me. He gets his freedom, and you? You might just survive," she replies, telling herself that the waver in her words is only her imagination.

Laughter greets her words. "Are you threatening me, child?"

"Rose, what the hell are you doing?" Jack. She ignores him, hoping that this foolish chance will save him. He's injured and needs looking after. Things that she can't do here, under Fenric's watchful eye. The Doctor should be able to help him.

Besides, if Jack gets to leave, she knows it'll only be a matter of time before the Doctor finds her. She knows that he'll always come for her. She just hopes that, this time, it won't be too late.

"Nope." She folds her arms in front of herself and does her best to appear unconcerned.

"You have such faith in him," Fenric says, stepping further into the light. "Did he tell you what happens to those who have faith in him? Did he tell you how he breaks them? Shatters them and their faith in his machinations? How he destroys them and everything they love and care for?"

"Guess that's what makes me a believer an' you an idiot," she replies. "That's the crazy thing 'bout faith. Keep on babblin', Fenric. I. Don't. Care."

"Her name was Ace," Fenric continues, beginning to pace. Back and forth. Always within sight, never leaving her view.

"She was a fighter, just like you. Believed in him, just like you. And, in the end, he destroyed her just so he could defeat me."

Back and forth. It's almost hypnotising. His voice. His…

She blinks, shaking herself. "Looks like that didn't last," she replies.

Fenric stops and faces her. She thinks she sees anger there, hidden in the lines around his eyes, his lips. "No, it doesn't, does it?"

"What's the point, then? Tryin' to get even? That all this is? Revenge?" she asks, letting scorn drift into her tone.

"Ace cried. When the Doctor betrayed her, revealed that he was using her, she broke. What makes you think that you're any different?" Fenric asks, ignoring her question.

She knows that this 'Ace' was one of the Doctor's companions. That alone tells her everything she needs to know. He loved all of them. He would never betray Ace. Might appear to, yes. But never actually betray the girl. The Doctor cared – and cares - too much for that. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a real problem with bein' too negative?" she asks.

"Keep your idealism and your beliefs, child. They cannot help you here," Fenric tells her, drawing ever closer, his hand reaching towards her.

Despite her bravado, despite her courage, she can't help herself when she backs away. However, her movement's curbed by Jack's presence and the chain that links her to him. "Don't come any closer," she snarls as her hands fist at her sides. She'll fight. She knows she will.

Fenric seems to try and step around her, reaching towards Jack. "Don't touch 'im," she orders, placing herself in his path.

"Rose, get out of the way. Don't let him touch you!" Jack warns her, but she doesn't exactly register his words.

"He's too weak, my dear, to serve my purpose. You, however, will do nicely." Fenric's hand looms larger in her vision and she tries to bat it away. However, the instant her skin comes into contact with his, weakness floods through her as a haunting melody flows through her mind.

"No," she whispers, unable to muster more strength to fight, to punch, to kick and scratch.

All she can do is watch and slowly sink to the floor, cradled by Fenric's hands.

* * *

The sewer.

No matter how it is wrapped or hidden. No matter how many feet separate it from the outside air. No matter how clean or dirty or disgusting or dank it may seem, the reality is always far, far worse.

It's a sewer.

He suppresses the urge to run his filthy hand through his hair as he searches through the tunnel system. It's a poor man's labyrinth, complete with twists and turns that lead anywhere but where he wants to go. He's had to circle back, turn in the opposite direction from where his sonic screwdriver indicates he needs to go and get lost in his quest to find the bloody centre-point again.

He's impatient and worried. However, he trusts that Fenric will not hurt Rose. Not yet, at least. Not when he isn't there to watch. So, he continues. His shoes squelch each time he moves, picking his way through the refuse. It's hard, but he somehow manages to avoid the murky water in the lowest part of the tunnel that contains things he doesn't want to even think about, let alone smell.

The sonic screwdriver is indicating that he needs to turn right. However, there are no turns up ahead, from what he can…

No. Wait. There. His eyes narrow as he tries to focus on what looks to be a small pile of rubble next to the stone of the tunnel wall. Maybe there's an opening?

He edges forward carefully, taking care to avoid the slippery moss that lines the edges of the walkway. He's at least six feet away from the pile of rocks and debris when he feels it. It starts with a trickle of power, a faint buzzing that's annoying but not distressing, not yet. He feels it begin to build, swamping his senses, his very being, with energy.

A time wave.

In his mind, he sees the sewer system, following specific paths through the city. Specific paths that he now recognises for what they are: the channels through which the waves travel. It's the sewer system. He should've seen it before. Should've known.

There's no time to curse his lack of insight. No time to do more than run. He doesn't care about avoiding the water, not now. Not with the wave threatening to crest above him. He only hopes that the rubble is an indication of a way out of these tunnels, a way to safety.

The wave is coming. He feels it as it roars towards him, gaining in intensity as it moves. Starting at the origin-point, rolling towards him, it's only a matter of seconds before it touches him.

It is an opening. He forces himself through the narrow hole, wincing as his jacket catches on the rough stone. An elemental fear lends him a new urgency. He can feel the wave. It's almost touching him now. He drags himself forward, scraping his hands, his body, in one last desperate attempt to escape. A few nanoseconds and it will be...

He all but collapses into the soft, dry dirt on the other side of the wall, having barely managed to evade the temporal energy. The impact of his hand on the ground causes his sonic screwdriver to tumble free into the darkness, automatically shutting itself off when it leaves his hand. The Doctor curses softly under his breath as he tries to gather his wits about him.

When he moves, he feels the sole of his left trainer crack slightly beneath his foot. He grimaces when he hears part of the shoe crumble to dust. It was touched by the wave, he realises. Another second more and that could've been him, only a thousand times worse.

Steeling himself, he shifts to his feet and looks around. Here, the only light is cast from the hole into the sewer system, and even that is faint. He can barely see the rusted metal of the train tracks in the shadows, but it's enough for him to realise where he must be.

Rose was right. He's got to be in the tunnel that used to link London to Cardiff. The air has the musty smell of a place long-disused, but he thinks he can hear something in the distance. Reaching into his pocket, he fumbles within the transdimensional space, hoping against hope that he remembered a torch. When his fingers close around the metal cylinder, he smiles, relived that something is finally going his way.

Pulling the torch free of his pocket, he thumbs it to life, sweeping the narrow beam across the ground. It takes him a few minutes to find the sonic screwdriver, buried half beneath one of the rusted metal tracks and covered in dirt. When he picks it up, he's relieved to find that it's still functional. The last time he lost his sonic screwdriver… well, at least there aren't any Terileptils here.

He slips the sonic screwdriver into his pocket, reluctant to activate it in the echoing tunnel. He hears something in the distance. Considering that it's the only source of information that he has, he sets off in that direction. He'll turn off the torch when he gets closer, but for now he directs its light from side to side, avoiding any obstacles in his path.

He strains his senses, trying to determine just what he heard earlier. The sound – voices, he thinks – is distorted in the tunnel, echoing off soft dirt and rough walls. It's low-pitched now, then higher, angrier. There's a fight of some sort up ahead, judging by the timbre of the echoes.

Increasing his pace, he begins to see faint light ahead. Quickly turning off his torch, he slows his movements, edging towards the side of the tunnel, straining his hearing to try and understand what's happening. Dropping the torch back into his pocket, he exchanges it for the sonic screwdriver, letting his fingers curl around the comforting metal. It's not much, but it might be able to help.

There. Rose. He can hear her voice. She sounds angry, terrified, but she's fighting.

_Anyone…problem…with bein' too negative?_

He moves closer, readying himself to charge, to do something to save her.

_Don't touch him…_

A new voice speaks up and he recognises Jack's voice. There isn't enough time to allow himself even a moment's worth of astonishment. He has to get closer.

_…don't…touch you._

He can see two shadowy profiles, sharply contrasting against the pale lighting around them. One's distinctly female – Rose – while the other, he guesses, is Fenric.

_You, however, will do nicely._

He's still too far away when he sees Fenric reach towards Rose. Too far away to stop him as she starts to crumple towards the floor. He thinks he shouts, says something in denial, as he begins to run, brandishing his sonic screwdriver like the weapon it was never meant to be.

However, he's too late. He knows it as soon as he hears the sound.

Unlike everything else he's been hearing, this sound is unmistakable. He could never misinterpret the hollow sound that a lifeless body makes as it hits the ground.

Only, this time, there's a difference. This time that body belongs to Rose.

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6: New Game, New Rules

**Chapter 6: New Game, New Rules**

"You _fucking_ bastard!" Jack snarls, renewing his struggles against his bindings with a strength that he didn't know he had. Rose, god, Rose is dead. Bilis drained her like he'd drained him, only he comes back. And Rose?

She's dead.

He's going to kill Bilis. That's the only option that makes any sort of sense. The only choice that he's willing to accept. He lives. Bilis dies.

He hears feet pounding against soft dirt, the sound of someone's anguish wrapped in a single word. "No!" an unfamiliar voice shouts and, when he breaks through the faint line that delineates the darkness and the pale light, Jack realises just who it is.

The Doctor. Of all things, this is not how he imagined their eventual reunion. Rose was alive, for one, and he was cheerfully strangling the man for abandoning him. Not now. Not like this. He wants to reach out to him. Wants to do something other than lie here, impotent and useless.

But, most especially, he wants to help the Time Lord kill Bilis.

"Doctor," Bilis says with a smile. God, he wants to wipe that look off Bilis' face, but he can't do more than continue to struggle. "You are finally ready."

There's something terrible about the look in the Doctor's eyes. Something broken and raging. Something dying over and over again. Anger that refuses to be quelled. However, when the Doctor speaks, it is with a calm that is, if anything, even deadlier than his previous incarnation's rages. "There's only one way that this is going to end, Fenric. Just one. And you know what way that is?"

Bilis laughs. "You talk, but you say nothing. You threaten, but you are impotent. You cannot defeat me, Doctor."

"No? Then tell me something. Last time, the only reason you escaped was because you had help. That's cheating. So why do I think that you want a rematch? Another game. Another chance to defeat me when the playing field is level between us. No pawns. No kings or queens-" The Doctor's voice catches slightly on the word, but he continues. "-or knights. Just you. Just me."

"Your defeat is inevitable," Bilis says, narrowing his eyes.

"That's where you're wrong. You made a terrible, terrible mistake. And you know what that is?" The Doctor's lips curl into a cruel smile. "Her. Your mistake was killing her. And you must know that nothing, nothing, will stop me from destroying you. With my own hands if necessary."

"You do not know?" Bilis asks, astonishment colouring his words. "You truly don't recognise what she is?" The man laughs, a delighted sound. "Oh, had I but known earlier, it would have made all the difference."

"What're you talking about?" he asks, unable to bear to keep silent. Not now. Not after what happened to Rose, what's happened to him.

"At the base of all things is time. Your time. Her time. The Doctor's time. My time. All subjective. All flowing at differing rates based upon location and causality. Some can walk through all the ages of humankind through will or technology. Some watch as time passes them by, forever frozen, never changing, never aging, never dying." Bilis turns from the Doctor and looks at him, something unfathomable in his eyes.

Never dying. Never. Dying. Rose. Oh, hell, Rose. What if, and he shouldn't let his hopes rise so much, but what if she is like him? Unable to age. Unable to die. Oh, god. He wouldn't condemn anyone to that torture, but for this once he wouldn't be sorry if she was. She could still be alive.

"And the Captain begins to understand. Like meets like. All are part of the same thing."

The Doctor shakes his head. "No more riddles, Fenric. We'll play a game, all right. And then, once and for all, this will be finished."

Bilis' smile turns into a grin. "As it was in the beginning, so it will be at the end. No-one ever answered my question, though, and that is rather rude. We will play, Doctor. The game of your choice. If you can answer my question."

"Ask." The word is almost a growl.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"

And, with a scrape of cloth against dirt, Rose begins to stir.

* * *

Rose Tyler has sometimes wondered what it's like to die. She's seen enough in her too-short life to know what it is. Seen friends, family and co-workers die. Seen complete strangers, dead because of her action or inaction.

Now, she suspects that she knows. It's slow, dying. Like energy is seeping out of her so, so slowly. Lethargy sets in first, then darkness creeps in at the edges of her vision, and then a blackness so deep overwhelms her, cutting senses off one by one.

That, she thinks, is dying.

This, however, is something else. The darkness that swamped her is driven back by a golden light and a song. A phrase echoes in her mind, her voice but not.

_I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. _

Knowledge pours into her and she knows. Oh, god, she knows what she did. What she's done. What she's about to do. Time and space and energy flow through her, are her. She knows and it hurts.

But this isn't death. If anything, it's too much life. So much that it almost burns. And then it quiets. The gold fades away, leaving in its wake warmth and a slow return to awareness.

Her senses return first. Touch – cool dirt, cradled by her fingers. Smell – mildew and the mustiness of disuse. Taste – the sharp tang of iron on her tongue, where she must've bit down when she initially fell. Sound – the Doctor's voice, so angry, so despairing though it's probably unnoticed by any who do not know him as well as she.

Sight returns last and, when she opens her eyes, she finds the Doctor staring at her. There's anguish etched in the lines of his face, in the way he holds himself, in his eyes. As their gazes meet, she watches as that anguish is burned away by incredulous joy. Without breaking that contact, she smiles. For a brief second that stretches to infinity, Fenric, Jack and even Cardiff don't matter. There are just a thousand unspoken words that pass between them, of happiness and relief and other emotions too numerous to describe.

That moment passes in an instant as Fenric laughs above her. "Do you understand now, Doctor?"

She can tell that he's thinking furiously, obviously trying to understand why she's still alive (and she'd like to know that herself) and why Fenric obviously knows about it. There's no reason that she should be alive. Nothing that should've said that Rose Tyler lives when anyone else would've died. Nothing at all.

Words. Everything comes down to words, she supposes. Her words. The Doctor's words. Fenric's words. But there are two words that are surprisingly absent, at least to her. Two words that she thinks are the answer to all of her questions and more.

Just two.

'Bad Wolf'.

Even now, they've been following her. Written across a wall in Cardiff. Words in her head, speaking of how she creates herself. And, now, she remembers. She remembers a time before Canary Wharf. When she and the Doctor were present at the creation of the organisation that was to be her initial downfall. At Torchwood House, the werewolf spoke to her. Told her of things that rang true then, if not more so now.

_There's something of the wolf about you._

It's still here. Still within her. There's a reason she's alive and that's it. The Bad Wolf. Even now, it's still dictating the course of her life. But why? Whatever for? Hadn't it served its purpose? She saved the Doctor (in a way). Destroyed the Daleks (though that didn't turn out as well as she hoped). And, in turn, got saved herself. She gave up that power. Or had she?

For a time, or so the Doctor told her, she was Time itself. She saw everything that is, was, and could be. What if-? God. That's too much even for her to consider. She's no prophet. She couldn't've foreseen this.

But a tiny voice inside her contradicts that thought. Denies it. Refutes it. What if she had foreseen this? Manipulated things to this particular end?

She barely notices when the Doctor looks away from her, though she does notice when he speaks. "The answer to your question, Fenric, is simple. So very, very simple. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? If you go by way of the song, it's 'not me'. But it's so much more than that, isn't it? Just have to look deeper than the surface and the answer is obvious. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"

She turns to look at him, not recognising the almost cruel smile that contorts the Doctor's face. "You. The answer is you, Fenric."

Fenric laughs, a low delighted sound. "The answer is but an aspect of the question, Doctor. Form, fit and function. You see what you wish to see, colouring your answer with what you want to believe. That is where you fail the test, my dear Doctor. The answer is as simple as you suspect, but it is one that you cannot – or, perhaps, do not want to – face."

He moves, blocking her view of the Doctor with his body. "Tell me, Doctor, why do you let yourself care for creatures such as these when your time with them is inevitably so brief? Why do you let yourself fear the unknown, especially when that unknown is the effect one valiant child has on the cosmos after interacting with powers she should never have been able to control? Let alone what that power has done to her? Or to the dear Captain? No, Doctor. You know the truth. The true answer to my question is you."

"That's enough prattle… No, wait. That's rather strange of me to say, isn't it? Me! Saying that there's enough prattle! Good thing the universe didn't implode. Or explode. Now then, Fenric-" The Doctor carefully enunciates the name. "-you wanted a game. An endgame, at least, for this particular struggle. One game. One final victory. But, first, you need to close the Rift and let my friends go."

"You can define the function of what game we play, Doctor. But the circumstances of the game belong to me. The Captain and the child –"

"Oi! My name's Rose," she snaps.

"-the _child _remain," Fenric says, emphasising the word. "The problem with the Rift, though, is not of my doing."

"Liar," the Doctor accuses him.

Fenric smiles and shifts so that he can gesture towards her and Jack. "If you wish to place your blame, it belongs here."

"What?" she asks before the Doctor can even speak.

"Bad Wolf here," Fenric replies, pointing at her. "Bad Wolf there." He points at Jack. "This close to the Rift? It's amazing that it hasn't been opened earlier…Oh, but wait, it has. Hasn't it, Captain?"

"That was your fault," Jack snarls. "You convinced them-"

"Ah, but I did not have to do so. In time, this would have happened anyway. I merely…gave it a much needed nudge," Fenric corrects him.

She just wishes she knew what they were on about. Oh, sure, the Rift's been open before. She distinctly recalls the last time she was in Cardiff with the Doctor and Jack. She remembers the energy pouring into the sky from the TARDIS, remembers the earthquake that threatened to knock her off her feet as she ran towards the ship. Something tells her, though, that they're talking about something else. Some other time. And, judging from what little she can see of Jack's expression from her position on the ground, it was even worse than the time she remembers.

"You wanted to free Abaddon," Jack says, craning his head so he can, she thinks, look Fenric in the eye.

Abaddon? This name-dropping, at least she assumes it's a name, doesn't make sense. Who the hell is Abaddon? She tries to catch the Doctor's gaze, but he's intent on watching Fenric and Jack, his expression enigmatic.

"In part," Fenric agrees. "But mostly it was to free you."

What?

* * *

Bad Wolf.

Even now, it chases him. Two words that mean so much more than words alone can convey. In some cases, it's Rose. If the Doctor closes his eyes, he can see her still. Burning with time's fiery light, destroying the Daleks, not because she could or should but because of him. She made the ultimate sacrifice once and he repaid her in kind. One of his lives for hers was more than an even trade.

He thought that he saw the end of Bad Wolf that day. With Jack, dead in a corridor. With Rose, unconscious on the TARDIS's floor. He was wrong.

The puzzle pieces are beginning to slide into place and he doesn't like the final picture that he's beginning to see. There's Rose – who died but lives. There's Jack – who should be dead, but isn't. There's Fenric – a creature he thought was dead so many centuries before.

Together, they reveal the truth. Bad Wolf isn't over. It's still here. Still in Rose. Still in Jack. What he doesn't understand is how.

Oh, he understands that the energy of the Bad Wolf is that of the Vortex, the Heart of the TARDIS. He knows that that has an adverse reaction with the Rift. He's seen it before. What he doesn't understand is how such a tiny piece as what must remain within Jack, within Rose, could cause this.

"Free me?" Jack scoffs, interrupting his thoughts.

He takes a moment to look at Jack, to register his friend's pallor, the pain lines around his eyes, the sharp smell of blood from the abrasions on his skin. The bindings that hold Jack immobile have abraded his body, denting muscle and skin due to their tightness. He wants to free him. He wants to save him like he hadn't before.

This, he realises, is exactly what he feared. Time ihas/i changed. Because of Rose. Because of Jack. Because of Fenric. Because of Bad Wolf.

This isn't supposed to happen, but it has, and he has to sort it.

"To start a fire, you strike a match. To start a war, you summon the devil," Fenric says, a cruel smile curling his lips.

"Machiavelli would be proud," he replies, clapping his hands slowly. "Ends justify the means, blah, blah, blah. Must you dither on so much? When we play, the terms are-"

"No, Doctor. The terms are Armageddon. You must defeat me to win whereas I only have to draw," Fenric states.

Armageddon chess. Of course. "The game isn't chess," he corrects him. "Your terms don't count."

"Oh, but they do. In any game, there can be a draw. The terms stand. Bad Wolf stays. And you must win."

He frowns, letting calculations and probabilities fill his mind. He finally chooses a game, based not on his expertise but on its possibilities. There is a very slim chance of a draw in a game of _Wei Qi._ "Release them from their chains, Fenric. They'll stay, but as guests, not prisoners."

Fenric smiles and he realises in that moment the irony of his statement. _Let the chains of Fenric shatter._ "And the game?"

"_Wei Qi,_" he replies. It's better known as 'Go', of course, but the game's the same. White versus black. A game of strategy, of tactics. Like chess only a bit more complicated. Good thing, though. He doesn't think he's a good chess player this time around. That was a game best suited to his seventh incarnation. "Oh, and Fenric? The game will not start until you release them."

He levels a glare at the man, wondering at that moment just who the man Fenric is, was. Fenric is an entity, a spirit. His last body was killed in a flood of toxic gas. Whoever this man was, he pities him. To lose everything to a creature like Fenric… He shakes his head. It's not worth considering. What's done is done.

Fenric looks like he's about to protest, but an instant later, he hears metal protesting as the chains and bindings snap around Rose and Jack. "It is done."

Right. So he needs a 19 by 19 grid of some sort… Sweeping his gaze around the tunnel, he doesn't find anything of use. There's dirt. There's the surface that Jack was tied to. Now that he can see it properly, he thinks is looks like the remains of some sort of overturned ore car. Bit bigger than normal, emblazoned with the label 'Torchwood', but an ore car.

It's a flat surface, at least. Which should do. And he thinks he could mark it with some chalk, provided that he still has some in his pocket. Fishing through his pocket, more than once wishing that he found a way to catalogue whatever's in each transdimensional space, he finds what he's looking for. It'd make the grandmaster of the game, Honinbo Shusai, turn in his grave for this disrespect, but there's nothing for it.

With a flourish, he produces a bit of chalk and six bags of Jelly Babies. "It's not going to be the best board available, of course. It's not even going to be a traditional board. But it's what I've got." He walks to the ore car and begins to draw a grid. He pauses for a moment, tapping his lower lip with the chalk as he regards Fenric. "Question is, of course, do you prefer the pastels? Or darks?"

* * *

Jack hurts.

Phantom pains dart up and down his body as he leans heavily against Rose. They are barely able to shuffle away from the remains of where he was tied up before the Doctor commandeers it for his impromptu 'Go' board. Only he could come up with something like that.

Fate of the universe? Life and death? It's either chess or 'Go' and, of course, the Doctor chooses the harder of the two. From what little he knows about the game – due to a rather enthusiastic ramble from an unusually talkative Toshiko about her secret passion for the game – it's more like four different chess games going on at the same time, on the same board.

"Are you all right?" he asks Rose, for the moment ignoring Bilis and the Doctor.

"Fine, yeah," she replies, but the tightness around her eyes belies her words. She's still hurting, he knows.

"First time hurts like hell," he tells her softly. "But it'll go away in half an hour or so."

"First time?" she echoes him, turning her head to meet his gaze.

"First time dying," he says, each word feeling as if he's pulling them from his throat. He's told others before of his immortality, but this is different. This is Rose. And now she knows.

He wishes he could've spared her that knowledge.

"You too?" Her arm, curled around his waist for support, tightens around him.

He nods curtly, a grim smile turning his lips upwards. The smile softens as he looks at her, doing his best to tighten his hold on her in response. "Could say I'm an old hand at it."

He catches the Doctor's quick glance out of the corner of his eye, registering the obvious guilt that colours his expression. He wishes that he could muster anger. Or even a bit of happiness that the Doctor is going to do his best to save the world. All he has is a feeling of resignation born of living for too long and dying too much.

Rose helps him to sit down, leaning against the rough brick-layered wall for support. They don't have the best view, but it's enough to see the Doctor carefully sorting what looks like colourful sweets into piles while Bilis looks on.

It's surreal, knowing without a doubt that the Doctor is playing this game not just for Cardiff, but for everything. Time, space, Rose and even him. He's seen enough to know just what the stakes truly are.

The Doctor turns towards them, a grin plastered across his face. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the Doctor isn't worried about this game or what might happen. If anything, he'd say that the Time Lord was confident that he'd win. In reality, he knows differently. Though he doesn't know this version of the Doctor, he suspects that some things stay constant despite the incarnation.

The Doctor knows how to lie, and lie well. It takes someone who knows him to see through that lie. He's not sure if he's reassured by it or not.

"What?" the Doctor asks. "Haven't you ever seen someone play a game of 'Go' for the fate of the universe? Admittedly, the future of Tibet was once decided over a game of 'Go', but Tibet is a lot smaller than the universe." He looks thoughtful for a moment before he continues, waving a pale pink Jelly Baby in emphasis. "Then again, Tibet's fate wasn't decided with Jelly Babies either. So, overall, I think the universe is in good hands, don't you?"

"Doctor-" Fenric begins, but the Doctor curbs him with a firm shake of his head.

"No, hold on. I'm busy. Blimey, maybe it's time for confessions, yeah? Best get this sorted before I play with the fate of everything and all that. So, Jack, sorry about leaving you behind on Satellite Five. Didn't even realise you were alive, actually. Then again, everything was going a bit pear-shaped at the time so even if I had, I wouldn't've been much use to you. But it looks like you're doing well. Nice greatcoat, love the colour. Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes."

"Yes?" he repeats, stunned by the flood of words – this Doctor truly loves to talk, doesn't he?

"Yes, I'm going to sort Fenric. Yes, I'm going to sort the problem with the Rift. And, most especially, yes, I'm going to sort what's wrong with you."

He blinks, stunned. "Oh." He isn't capable of a more coherent sentence than that.

The Doctor turns his attention to Fenric, that blinding smile still firmly in place. "Right, so fate of the universe? White versus black. Good guy versus bad guy – shouldn't there be some sort of ominous 'showdown' music?" The Doctor mouths the word showdown and shakes his head. "Anyway. Black starts first."

And the game over the fate of the universe begins with the placement of a single black Jelly Baby.

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7: Endgame

**Chapter 7: Endgame**

Rose has seen many impossible things in her life. She's met the Doctor, travelled in time and space, has seen aliens and monsters and things that would send most people running for home. She's breached the Void between two universes simply because she wanted to come home. Not just to the Doctor, but here. This universe.

She's seen Jack, a man she thought dead but wasn't. And now she's caught a glimpse of her own apparent immortality. Impossible, impossible, impossible.

She should know by now that there isn't such a thing. Impossible is only impossible because it hasn't been done yet. Doesn't mean it can't or won't happen, though.

Jack shifts slightly beside her, casting her a concerned glance. She suspects that he's worried about how she's taking this. Her immortality. Her 'death'. Even seeing him again. The truth, she finds, is that she's not certain what she feels.

Despite the ghosts that lie between them, she's glad that he's here. On one hand, she's thrilled that she didn't die, but on the other she can see what that means. Immortality. Unable to age, unable to die. If she had stayed in the other reality, she knows what would've happened. She would've had to move on, change her name, her appearance, everything. People would notice if she stayed looking like a twenty year old, when she was forty, or fifty, or eighty-nine.

For a short moment, she thinks it might be a blessing. Never dying. Never aging. One of her greatest fears, a fear that she knows is nothing but the truth, is that she'll die during one of their adventures, leaving the Doctor alone. She doesn't have to now, does she?

No. She shakes her head at the turn of her thoughts. That'd be bad. Never dying? Never ageing? She's human – well, mostly. The greatest thing about humans, or so the Doctor's told her, is that they have such a short time in this universe that they live it to the utmost. If she lives forever, what'll that do to her?

Will she start taking risks? Start behaving recklessly? Think she's some sort of superhero? And, after a while, won't she get bored with it all? Seeing people she loves or cares for die before her? Leaving her alone, except for Jack and the Doctor? Even then, the Doctor can't regenerate forever, can he?

There'd have to be some sort of limit on his regenerations and, if she stays immortal and she loses him, what'll that do to her? No. It's not worth it.

She can tell that Jack's thought this through before. Something in his expression, in his voice, as he told her that the 'first time hurts'. He doesn't like immortality, and can she blame him?

As for the Doctor, well, she doesn't think he'd want her to live forever. She'd turn out exactly like her mum said all those years ago. She won't be Rose Tyler any more. She'll be someone else.

A shiver runs through her and she leans into Jack for comfort, though there's little that he can provide. The Doctor's doing his best to save everything and she's stuck on the sidelines. But what can she do? She can't interrupt the game; that might be catastrophic. She can't join the game – two players only, and she certainly doesn't fancy playing opposite Fenric, Bilis or whatever his name is. So she's stuck mulling over her fate, the Doctor's fate, Jack's fate and the fate of the entire bloody universe.

"All right?" Jack asks softly, deflecting the downward spiral her thoughts were taking as he slips an arm around her shoulders and draws her into a half-hug.

She's not certain if she wants to laugh or cry because of his question. All right? She's suddenly immortal, the Doctor's playing a game of 'Go' with the Devil and Jack's asking if she's 'all right'? With an almost weary sigh, she shrugs. "I'd say 'yeah', but I'd be lying," she tells him.

His arm tightens around her. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" she asks, startled. "'S not your fault."

"I just wish…" he begins and stops, looking at her for a second before smiling wryly. "Then again, I wish a lot of things. Doesn't mean they'll come true."

She gives him a curious glance and, for a moment, she remembers what he vowed the last time she saw him. He wanted the Doctor then. But that's changed now. At least, she thinks it has. After all, it's a bit hard to hold onto vengeful thoughts when the intended target is doing his best to save your life.

"How 'bout you?" she counters. "Are you all right?"

Jack smirks, an unexpected expression considering their current circumstances. "Hey, it's me. Of course I am! At least, that's what they tell me. Though, generally it's accompanied by more enthusiastic comments like 'fantastic' or 'wow'." The last words sound a little off, though. Like he's trying his best to behave as she expects, but he's changed and that's not him any more. Not really.

Her gaze sharpens as she looks at him, really looks at him. Beyond the aches and pains of the past few hours – days? - he seems tired; exhausted, really. With life, she suspects. Given his earlier words, she knows that he's died several times. So what does that make him? How old is he, really?

Immortal and never aging. She might as well be looking into a mirror. That's what will happen to her, she realises. If the Doctor can't fix this, that'll be her life.

It's suddenly very cold in the tunnel.

She offers him a faint smile that she doesn't really feel, before turning towards the Doctor. He's frowning at the makeshift 'Go' board, tapping a pale pink Jelly Baby against his lower lip.

A game of 'Go' for the fate of the universe.

She might as well add that to her ongoing list of impossible things made possible before her eyes. She just hopes the Doctor has a plan for if this doesn't work. Running is, of course, an option but she doubts that it'll do them any good.

Then again, she is talking about the Doctor. He never has plans. He just makes things up as things happen.

The Doctor catches her gaze and grins, saluting her with the sweet before he places it down on the board. She has no idea if he's winning or losing. His expression is too closed for that. So she can only hope.

If he loses, well, she doesn't want to even think about that.

* * *

The Doctor's eyes narrow slightly as he examines the board. It's difficult, really, to try and predict how Fenric will react in any given situation. Oh, sure, some things are predictable. Fenric is an aggressive player – if he sees what might be an opening, he'll take it without weighing options. 

There's also a palpable desperation that taints his opponent's actions. It's obvious in the way Fenric tilts his head, the tightening of muscles along his jaw and the way he holds himself so very still. It must be more than a simple desire to defeat him that motivates Fenric.

But what could that be? And how can he use that to his advantage?

The 'Go' board is starting to look like someone's been tossing random sweets across it rather than an orderly game. There's a battalion of pink, yellow and green jelly babies guarding the upper left corner of the board, with an exploratory party of pink and yellow coloured sweets breaching the black, red and orange-controlled lower right corner.

After some quick mental calculations, he doesn't think he has enough territory to win the game. Not yet, at least. Fenric has desperation on his side, taking gambles that have (on the most part) worked.

"Did I ever tell you how I learned to play _Wei Qi_, Rose?" he asks, changing tactics while he waits for Fenric's next play.

"No?" The reply is hesitant, as if she wasn't expecting him to talk to her. Then again, why would she? She's been forced to the sidelines, an observer.

"Can't see why- oh, right. Never came up, did it? Always running, you and me, from adventure to adventure without taking the time to smell the flowers. No, wait. There was that time on Gertalis and I discovered that I've got allergies…right. Not relevant. I was telling you about how I learned to play _Wei Qi_." He grins brightly at her, pretending to ignore Fenric, though he's doing anything but.

"Probably from someone famous. The Charles Dickens of the 'Go'-playin' world or the like," Rose says dryly.

He shoots her a look. Surely he can't be that – oh, right. Maybe he is. He grins. "_Meijin_ Dosaku." He pauses, as if he's expecting a gasp of amazement from someone, though it never comes. "Nice bloke, though he never did figure out how to make a proper cup of tea. Kept trying to tell him: Now, _Meijin_ Dosaku, just a pinch of-"

"Doctor." Fenric interrupts him, his tone coloured with anger. "It's your turn."

He smiles and pretends surprise. "So it is! Brilliant. So, as I was saying, Rose. _Meijin_ Dosaku couldn't make a-"

"Doctor! Just make your move," Fenric snaps.

"No need to be so tetchy," he scolds him, taking his time to find a pale-coloured sweet. "Besides, it's got historical relevance. A Shogun who can't make a proper cuppa? It's practically unheard of. Admittedly, he did have-"

"Doctor." He's never heard his name said in that tone of voice before. And he's heard lots of tones. Angry, sad, vengeful, happy and the lot. But never like that. Then again, he's never played 'Go' with Fenric before, either. So it's a day of firsts, right?

His mind immediately goes back to the other 'first' of the day. Rose died. He heard it, saw it and his hearts stopped in his chest at the sight. For the longest few seconds in all his lives, he thought she was gone. Death is always so permanent for humans. Though, this time, it wasn't. She's still alive, still here and that's another first. Then there was Jack's revelation that he, too, can't die.

Bad Wolf isn't over… Wait a moment. What if that's it?

Bad Wolf. Fenric. There's the matter of Fenric taking Jack first. Abaddon. The implication that Jack died – and, he thinks, destroyed Abaddon in so doing. Then Fenric took Rose. Killed her once, but what if-. Oh, what if-?

He picks up a Jelly Baby and makes a show of studying the board. That's got to be the key. Bad Wolf. The…the…energy of Bad Wolf. It looked like Rose got weak the instant that Fenric touched her. Lethargic, almost. Could that be it?

Fenric needs the energy of Bad Wolf. Needed both Jack and Rose – awakened? Is that it? Jack's energy, the bit of the Bad Wolf inside him, was probably drained by Abaddon. That, then, forced it to surge back. To awaken to bring him back to life.

Rose, on the other hand… What if she didn't need an encounter that drastic to awaken the power inside her? She held the Vortex inside her head. She was the vessel. It probably only took a single death… Oh. Clever, clever Fenric. That's it, isn't it?

But why the game? Why would Fenric bother? He's got Jack and Rose. Couldn't he just use the energy and be gone? No, wait. What if he's still bound. Still shackled, just as he was all those years ago. Unable to leave Earth, perhaps? And by defeating him, Fenric's jailer, that'd do it. That'd be the freedom that Fenric so craves.

Now he studies the board in earnest. That's the entire point. Fenric wants to defeat him and use his companions - his friends - to escape.

He won't let that happen.

* * *

Jack watches the Doctor. There's something calming about his presence, despite the circumstances of this meeting, despite his earlier thoughts about what he'd do if he ever met him again. That's one thing that's remained constant through the years, no matter what lies between them. He still trusts the Doctor. 

Bit ironic, that. After so many years of blaming the Time Lord for his problems, though they never truly were the Doctor's fault, he still trusts him. In a situation like this, or any dangerous situation, there's no-one else he'd rather have at his side. Well, he amends as he looks at Rose, curled into his side, almost no-one else.

He winces as he recalls the last time he met her. The way he used her, the way she looked at him afterwards, the way she ran, leaving only a note behind. He's made so many mistakes in his life, but that was one of the worst. He wonders if she realises that he wasn't just apologising for her learning about immortality, but for his actions from before. Somehow, he doubts it.

She's always been good at putting the past behind her. The way that she leans against him leaves little doubt of that. He doesn't think she'd be able to turn to him for comfort if she hadn't already forgiven him. The only problem now is finding the means to forgive himself.

He shifts his position slightly, letting Rose get more comfortable against him, as he returns his attention to the Doctor. It's difficult trying to read the Time Lord's myriad expressions. Before, it'd been relatively simple. There was a torn soul hidden behind blue eyes back then. A torn soul that hid itself behind biting sarcasm and wit. Now, though, that's changed.

The Time Lord's soul's just as torn, yes. This version of the Doctor just hides it behind a melancholy smile and a tendency to babble. The soul's a bit less ragged, he thinks. There're some scabs over those wounds and that, he thinks, is mostly due to the woman beside him. He's not stupid enough to think that he had anything to do with it.

No, wait. There's a flicker of something in the Doctor's eyes, but it's gone before he can categorise it. He just wishes he could see the full game board. From his current position, he can only see the rough outlines of the sweets. That doesn't tell him who's winning, though.

"The game is over," Billis announces, brushing his hands against his trousers. "You have lost."

What? The Doctor never loses. Even when it seems hopeless, there's always some other choice, some other chance. He can't lose, right?

The Doctor blinks and glances back at the board, shaking his head. "Didn't you realise, Fenric? The game's only over if we both agree that one of us has won. That's it. That's all. And I don't agree."

"Your pieces are surrounded. I have more territory. Isn't that the purpose of this game?" Bilis asks.

"Hold on. Well, yes, that's the object of the game, but I know that I can gain more territory. So no presumptive claims of victory until the fat lady sings. Never understood that phrase. What fat lady? And why does she have to sing? There certainly isn't any fat-"

"Doctor," Bilis says, a warning in his voice.

"-lady around here," the Doctor says, giving Manger a winning smile. "So, where was I? Oh, yes. Pondering my next move." The Time Lord shifts his attention towards himself and Rose. However, he finds himself at a loss to explain just what the Doctor wants from him.

He can't read him, not like before. Rose stiffens slightly at his side and she slips her hand into his own, entwining their fingers. There's a squeeze – a warning? And then she straightens her posture, readying herself for something.

He just wishes he knew what they were preparing themselves for. To run? No. That doesn't seem right. Bilis Manger isn't someone he wants to run from. Not because he doubts he could escape, but because he doesn't want to leave someone like Bilis alive. There's no telling what he might do, or could do, if left to his own devices. No. That can't be what the Doctor's planning.

To fight? That's a possibility, though he doesn't know what good he or Rose could do, especially given that Bilis just has to touch them to sap their energy. He just wishes he _knew_ what the Doctor is planning.

But, since he doesn't, he'll have to settle for watching and waiting.

And, when the time is right, acting.

* * *

This is bad. No, this is bad with the full set of matched luggage with another pinch of bad on the side. Didn't he have Fenric cornered? He had, he's sure of it. In a spot of bother. In trouble. Between a rock and a hard place. Something of that sort. 

Instead, the one backed into a corner is him. Bugger. Best laid plans and all that. Time to switch to plan B. And, if that doesn't work, plan C and so forth. He's just hoping B works. Whatever it is.

The Doctor looks at the board and thinks about his next move. Anything he does now is merely delaying the inevitable, as Fenric has already seen. That's the point, though. Delay. Playing for time.

He grabs one of the extra sweets and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Fenric's words resurface at the forefront of his mind.

_At the base of all things is time. Your time. Her time. The Doctor's time. My time. All subjective. All flowing at differing rates based upon location and causality._

Time is subjective. Time can change. One choice instead of another. A left, instead of a right. One move instead of another. That's the basis for parallel realities. Here, Fenric has won. He can use Jack and Rose…

Jack and Rose. Bad Wolf. The Heart of the TARDIS. That's the key. As Bad Wolf, Rose rewrote history. Erased the Daleks from time and space with the wave of her hand. Created a new parallel universe where the Daleks never were, never are and never shall be.

What if he uses that same power? To create another parallel? Only, there, Fenric is powerless? Chained for all eternity? No. That's a rubbish plan. There would still be ways for him to escape. Ways for Fenric to torment some other universe, a universe that doesn't have his protection.

A parallel dimension won't work.

The Void. That's it. So simple, that's it. The Daleks, the Cybermen, they're still there. Still floating, impotent, in the space between dimensions. What better place to banish Fenric? He can't affect this universe from there. That'd be impossible, unless there's another hole and that can't happen. Not any more. At least, he hopes not.

The question is how. How can he use Bad Wolf, a power that neither Jack nor Rose have control over from what he's seen, to make a rip in the fabric of reality?

It'd have to be tiny. An infinitesimal tear, just enough to toss Fenric through, and then easily closed. Brute force wouldn't do it, that'd destroy the universe that he's trying to protect. But that takes control. So much control.

It can't happen just anywhere. It'd have to happen at… The Rift. That's it. It's been before him all along.

But there's also the problem of the open Rift. Ah, but that'd be fixed too. Pop open the Rift, slice reality, toss in Fenric, close it all up. Nice and neat. Well, as nice and neat as he can manage given that his only weapons are his sonic screwdriver and his mind.

He frowns, making a show of placing his next piece on the board. Slipping his free hand into his pocket, he curls his fingers around the sonic screwdriver. He's sitting on top of so much energy. Bad Wolf. The Rift. It roars through this spot, this calm point in the centre of a temporal storm.

It's just a matter of triggering it. He changes the settings on the screwdriver and pulls it out of his pocket.

Fenric doesn't seem to recognise the screwdriver, though he looks at it with trepidation. "Cheating, Doctor?" Fenric asks, guessing at his purpose.

He grins. "Cheating? Nope. Not at all. See, thing is, I realised something, Fenric. And you know what it is?"

"That you met a Shogun who didn't know how to make tea?" Fenric asks dryly.

"You were listening!" He beams. "Nope, not it. Though it is a good point. No, I realised what you're about. What you want. What you need."

"And what's that?"

"Your freedom. You're still shackled to this planet, aren't you? After I defeated you, oh so many centuries ago, you were chained. Your body was poisoned, it couldn't survive, so you went searching. Maybe you found this bloke – Bilis, was it? – or he found you, it doesn't matter. But, once you took control of that body, you discovered that you were limited. Just this planet and that's it. Doesn't make a good life for evil from the dawn of time, now does it?"

Fenric's expression is thunderous. "The chains are shattered. You've lost."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." Technically, Fenric's right, but that doesn't matter. "You see, the key's been right in front of me all this time. There's you, wanting to be free. There's Bad Wolf, the power that you need to get off this planet. And then there's me."

"What can you do?" Fenric scoffs, sweeping his hand across the makeshift 'Go' board, scattering the sweets across the dirt floor.

"Oh, nothing much," he says nonchalantly. "Just this." He thumbs on the sonic screwdriver.

Jack and Rose are surrounded by a ferocious golden light.

Fenric screams.

And reality explodes.

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8: Armageddon

**Chapter 8: Armageddon**

In her mind's eye, she stands on a wind-swept beach, staring out into the distance. Her family is nearby, but it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to, really, because in a matter of minutes, she found and lost him again. Once upon a time, she stood in his place. There were no proper goodbyes, not then, not ever.

This is Rose Tyler, watching the images of her life ebb and flow like the ocean's tide. This, she supposes, is another form of dying. She's heard the stories of light at the end of a tunnel or a loved one waiting to take you home. She supposes it's somewhat ironic that, at this moment, she's at the place of her greatest heartache.

_Bad Wolf Bay._

Her lips curl into a smile that she doesn't feel as she wraps her arms around herself. If she turns, she knows she'll see them. Her mum, Pete and Mickey. The moment of realisation wherein he was gone and she has to move on without him.

However, it's different now. She knows what happened, what was meant to happen. She knows that she's not in the alternate universe. She's come back. She's with him again and all is right in the world.

Except she's dying.

She feels something being pulled from her and for a moment she's afraid. A piece of herself howls in protest and in ferocious joy at the sensation and she realises just what lurks beyond the horizon of this tiny beach.

Gold lurks there. The Vortex. The big bad wolf.

This scene, this place, is meant to protect her, she now knows. In her moment of weakness, it is here where she found the will in herself to survive, to move forward, to live. It is here that she swore to herself that she'd keep looking for a way back.

And it is here where she uttered the words for the first time.

_I love you._

That's power in and of itself. And as her body dies again and again – at least, that's the only explanation she has for what she feels – this is the only way her mind knows to try and keep herself sane.

She can picture it if she concentrates. The world outside this beach. The tunnel walls, bleached white from the force of golden light that's pouring from herself and Jack. Everything screaming. Reality. Herself. Jack. Fenric. And, she thinks, the Doctor screams too.

This hurts. She can't even imagine what it must feel like to someone like him. Blasted with so much temporal energy. His senses must be overloading, but he still struggles to remain where he is. Holding open a…

Breach?

Yes. There's a breach in reality. So small, it's barely noticeable. But she can feel it. Feels her energy, the power of the Bad Wolf, pouring into it, widening it.

She knows, now, what the Doctor intends to do. He wants to trap Fenric in that breach. Toss Fenric through and seal it after. She can almost touch what lies beyond the hole and she shivers in reaction.

The Void.

He's opening a portal into the Void. God, please don't let this be another wall. Don't let him get lost in the moment, lose himself and thus lose his grip on this world, this reality. She can't lose him again.

There're fractured bits of the universe and melted jelly babies scattered across the floor of the tunnel and she can't do anything. She can't save him, not from this. She's a spectator in this chapter of her life and she hates it.

Then that briefest of glimpses into what's happening outside her body fades away to be replaced by the beach. She can feel tears stinging her eyes, tracing paths down her cheeks, and she doesn't know if they're real, imaginary or nothing more than a memory.

"No." The word is spoken in a strange dual-tone. It echoes through her mind, causing the beach to flicker around her, a picture that's losing its texture, its reality. She's never been one to sit, to stay, to watch, to listen.

She's the Bad Wolf. She gave that name to herself and it's only fitting that she take control of that aspect of herself. She will not let Fenric win.

And she will not lose the Doctor.

* * *

There are bad ideas and then there are _bad_ ideas. He's not certain under which category this particular idea falls, but he can guess. He has flashbacks in that moment of another time, another place.

There was a wall, then. A smooth, imperfect wall that represented everything he'd gained and lost in an instant. There was a crack in reality, too fleeting, too imperfect to last. There were Cybermen and Daleks, pulled into the Void as like called like.

And there was Rose. She screamed as she fell, pulled towards the Void. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn't reach her. Couldn't stop her. Couldn't save her. But Pete did and then she was gone.

For the longest time, he'd thought that was the end. But it wasn't. She's back. And now, well, he's trying it again. Admittedly, this is a much smaller scale. However, he just seems to have forgotten the tiny, almost insignificant matter of the Void stuff that's still scattered over him, over Rose.

The Void is a massive expanse of nothing that can't be quantified or explained. It exists and that is enough. Open a tiny hole, though, between reality and it and everything changes. Nature abhors a vacuum and he feels it begin to pull at him.

It starts with a slight tug, enough to cause him to realise that something's wrong. It increases in strength as the breach widens and he finds himself holding onto the fallen ore car with one hand. The other is still firmly depressing the activation key on the sonic screwdriver. If he drops that activation, if he loses his grip, the breach will go rogue.

Cardiff wouldn't be able to survive that particular storm.

There's no choice. He holds on because he has to, because this has to stop Fenric. But, somehow, Fenric is resisting. Immune. Oh, Rassilon, he hadn't thought.

Of course Fenric's immune. Fenric's a being from the dawn of time. Not from an alternate universe, not someone who's passed through the Void. He's existed since the beginning and this isn't working.

The Doctor bites back a curse as he tightens his grip on both the car and the sonic screwdriver. The pull is strengthening as every second inches past and soon he'll be unable to hold on.

_Rose._

Sudden fear fills him as he realises that he's just incapacitated her. She's engulfed in golden energy and he can't save her. Not now. Not like this. But, somehow, she's not moving. Though she should be tugged into the Void, she's staying where she is, pressed against Jack.

It's Jack, he realises. Even through the energy drain, he's holding on. Jack's saving her, which leaves him free to consider his options. This is his only chance. If he can't hold on, he'll fall into the Void. But, if it takes Fenric with him, isn't that worth it? He's willing to die for this universe. He's willing to condemn himself to hell for that very purpose.

_Rose. Jack._

They won't understand, not at first. But they'll be alive. Rose and Jack. Though he doubts that this will cure their immortality. Together forever, literally. He'll be condemning them to eternal life if he does this.

These are the scales he has to weigh. The universe. Fenric. It's a rough parallel to his past, when he was all that stood between the universe and the Daleks. He thought he'd finished that War once. With an explosion, with the aching loss of Gallifrey, but he was wrong.

Now he stands again. There's Fenric, an enemy he thought destroyed. And then there's him. He knows what he has to do. For Rose (I'm so sorry). For Jack (Forgive me). For the universe.

He lets go.

* * *

Jack dreams.

In his mind, he's home. Not the harsh colony world of his birth. Not Cardiff. Not the tiny hole in the ground that serves as his quarters in the Hub. Not Earth. Not the Time Agency or his onetime ship.

Home.

A place beside two people that care for him. Two people who love him and whom he loves in return. A place where he belongs.

The TARDIS.

And then it changes. Swallowed by golden light, the TARDIS is gone. The Doctor and Rose are gone. And only it remains. There's light and there's him. Nothing else. Nothing more.

This isn't like dying, he realises. Not any more. This has already gone past Abaddon. Past bullets and falls and broken necks.

This isn't dying.

This is living.

And, god, does it hurt.

* * *

It doesn't take much to change the future. A chance meeting. A fall. A turn. Serendipity. Love. Will. Trust.

She sees everything now. Everything that was, that is and will be. For the second time in her life, she feels eternity coursing through her. The future is an open book. All she has to do is turn the page. However, like all books, it can be rewritten. It can change. Nothing is set in stone.

Especially not the Doctor's death.

She turns the pages, reading on, while the universe seems to still around her. The Void is calling. Her. The Doctor. Anything that was touched by its essence is being called home.

There. Down this tunnel, surrounded by alien artefacts, there is a large shield-like object coated with the Void's particles. She thinks, in a timeless moment, that it's a fragment of Cybermen armour and she knows it, then. Realises its import as it shifts, breaking through barriers intended to contain and protect. Instead, those barriers are destroyed along with a wall.

It's coming.

Soaring down the tunnel, pulled inexorably towards the gap and towards them. The Doctor falls towards the fissure. It's a race to see which reaches Fenric, and from there the gap, first.

It takes only a moment to consciously use the power of the Bad Wolf again. There isn't much she has to give, but it's enough to give that shield an extra boost of speed. An amazing thing, inertia.

An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside source. There's a shield. There's Fenric. The two collide, only the force that's pulling the shield is stronger than any opposition Fenric's body can possibly make.

And then there's motion.

* * *

Time Lord.

Only two words, yes, but they seem to imply that he can control that which has no controls and defies categorisation. He can't control time. He lives time. Where humans and their ilk pass through the seconds of their lives, he knows each nanosecond, each minute, hour and day.

Sometimes he can slow how he lives through time. Lengthen the seconds until each seems like minutes or hours. It requires so much concentration, though. Concentration that he doesn't have. Concentration that he can't have.

This is where the fear starts. He knows fear. Has lived with it and used it all of his lives. Fear has a purpose. It warns of danger and strengthens the fight or flight reflex in everyone. It's that niggling doubt at the back of your mind that something's wrong. It's worry and terror and all things in between. Every living being in the universe feels fear.

Especially him.

Once, he enthused about the urge to fall, to let go, to freefall into something new, something different, something exciting. There's no enthusiasm now. No happiness or giddiness of exploration. There's only resolve.

He falls. He doesn't know what waits at the end of this plunge. The Void is a label for something that cannot be described. Nothing has no name. Once he plummets through the breach, he doesn't know what'll happen. Will he regenerate through his remaining lives in seconds, destroyed by the lack of air to breathe? Or will he live on, caught in his own measure of amber, suspended for eternity in a place somewhere between life and death?

There's only one thing that must happen, has to happen. One thing that will make this fall worthwhile. For Rose. For Jack. For the entire bloody universe. He's taking Fenric with him.

Into the Void and whatever lies beyond it. Death or life, it doesn't matter as long as this universe and everything he cares for is safe from Fenric's machinations.

No, wait. Something's different. He's still falling, but it feels as if each second is stretching into hours. Fenric's barely visible if he cranes his neck downward, looking under his arms. He thinks the entity's trying to say something, but each syllable is too drawn out for him to understand.

There. Out of the corner of his eye, there's something that's moving impossibly fast. He has only the briefest of moments to register its shape – a Cyberman's chest armour-plate, perhaps? – and the golden energy that's propelling it, highlighting the object with a halo.

He realises, belatedly, that it makes sense. Anything that's touched by the Void will be attracted here. The cut in the fabric of reality is still small enough to only have the pull of a minor vortex. It takes time for its effects to spread, but it's obviously reached the place where this bit of armour was. Perhaps it was surrounded with curiosities that've fallen through either the Rift or through the Void itself during the Canary Wharf incident. Torchwood, maybe?

The air whistles in the wake of the object's passage and he can feel it. He feels it pulse through the air with every one of his twenty-seven senses. Feels it as its trajectory is altered by a suspiciously deliberate impulse of energy. Feel it as it passes within inches of his feet, smashing into just what he had been aiming for.

Fenric and the armour seem to grapple for a moment, through the tiny gap between his arm and his chest. He hears Fenric shout his name and he's never heard so much loathing poured into it before. Then, in the space of a heartsbeat, Fenric and the object are gone, leaving only the gaping maw of the breach in their wake.

It takes a hearts-stopping moment for him to try to change the settings on the sonic screwdriver – which is hard given these particular circumstances. He fumbles the device slightly, but he manages to depress the activation setting in time to negate the previous frequency.

The effect is immediate. The light fades, the rip closes and he lands in a rather undignified sprawl, slowly sliding to a stop on the gritty floor.

* * *

Consciousness returns slowly and, with it, a deep-seated ache that fills his body. Even the aftermath of Abaddon can't compare to this. He _hurts_ in ways he didn't even know he could. Even his hair hurts, which is particularly odd. He's immortal. Death should be rewritten in an instant, taking with it everything but a phantom memory of whatever had killed him.

Killed him. Had he died? He doesn't even remember now. Rose is still here, still curled into his side. He finds that his hand has cramped into its earlier position around her shoulder, an almost desperate grasp. He releases it with a grimace as feeling rushes back into the fingers, tingling unpleasantly.

The Doctor. _Bilis_. He shakes himself from his stupor, trying to take stock of his surroundings. The tunnel is strangely quiet. The Doctor isn't threatening Bilis. Bilis isn't declaring victory and, most of all, everything's still here.

The universe. Him. Rose. The ore car. The tunnel. Just as he remembers it. Everything except…

"Doctor." The name emerges from his lips in a croak and he swallows painfully, feeling as if he hasn't had water in days – which, for all he knows, he hasn't.

There's a groan from somewhere beyond the ore car and he carefully disentangles himself from Rose. She's still out of it and he spares the briefest of moments to brush a strand of blonde hair from her face. She's still alive, at least. But the Doctor needs him.

Forcing himself to his feet, he wobbles his way towards the sound, not knowing what he's about to find. Bilis? The Doctor? Something or someone else?

"Remind me the next time I have the brilliant idea to open another breach into the Void that it's not so brilliant?" the Doctor asks as he pushes himself to his feet, brushing dust and debris from his suit and hair.

Relief overwhelms him as he staggers slightly, finding himself steadied by a deceptively strong grip. This close to the Doctor, he finally allows himself to look, to see the physical differences that while apparent from a distance are even more so from here. The freckles that cover his face. The hair that seems to defy any sort of style. The brown eyes, rather than blue.

That's when he realises that those eyes haven't changed. The eye colour might be different, but it's the same man that's looking back at him.

"Hello, Jack," the Doctor says, a wide grin crossing his face.

"He-hello," he musters, unsure of what to say, let alone do. For so long he was torn. Snog him or punch him. Kiss him or kill him. Now he feels as if he's lost his way.

Strangely, the Doctor seems to understand, a flicker of something far too enigmatic to decipher in his eyes. "Thank you," the Doctor says and, a moment later, he finds himself in the Time Lord's arms.

He didn't realise how much he needed this until it happens. It's cathartic, this hug. Decades-worth of tension is drained away and only then does the Doctor release him.

"What happened?" he asks, pulling his thoughts together.

"Poker," the Doctor replies. "I called Fenric's bluff."

"No," a new voice says. Rose, he identifies. "You cheated."

"I never cheat!" The Time Lord does his best to look affronted, though mirth dances in his eyes. "I just had an ace up my sleeve." A strange, almost sad look crosses the Doctor's face, but it's gone so quickly he starts to doubt he saw it.

"An ace?" Rose asks and there's something in her voice that causes him to turn towards her. She's standing now with her hands on her hips, an indignant expression on her face. "That what you're callin' suicide nowadays?"

"Suicide?" He's confused. Who… Oh. Oh, hell. What the hell was the Doctor thinking?

"Suicide? _Suicide_? That wasn't suicide-" the Doctor begins, protesting against Rose's words.

"Then what was it? 'Cause throwing yourself into the Void certainly seems like suicide to me."

"Fenric had to be stopped." There's no life in those words, no mirth or joy. The Doctor's closing himself off and he's not going to allow it.

"Yeah, he did. But there're better ways of doing it than killing yourself," Jack says.

"Name one."

He's at a loss for words. He saw what Bilis could do. Knew that he couldn't stop him, not by himself. And, he has to admit, the Doctor's solution did work. He just isn't sure what else could've been done in the amount of time that they had.

"Bad Wolf," Rose replies, folding her arms before her.

"You can't control that power, Rose. Not again. Not after-"

"But I did," Rose corrects him, curbing the Doctor's words as she shakes her head. "Got that shield-thing moving. Got it to hit Fenric before you did."

Shield-thing? Hitting Fenric? The hell? Jack's confused. What on Earth are they talking about?

"That's impossible." The Doctor breathes those words, apparently dumbstruck.

"So's my bein' here. Didn't stop me then, an' it certainly didn't stop me now," she says.

"It should've killed you. But-"

"I can't die. Yeah, I know. Seems a bit of an advantage at the moment, yeah? But I'm knackered. Can we just, I dunno, get out of this tunnel an' back to the TARDIS? I think there're some things we need to talk about."

Rose turns towards him, a look in her eyes that he knows all too well. "That means all of us, Jack."

He's not sure how he feels about going back to the only place he considered a home. Relieved? Happy? It's almost tempting to make up some sort of excuse. His team needs him. Cardiff needs him.

Then again, he always was a coward.

"No. It doesn't. It means that you lot are coming with me," someone orders over the soft snick of a weapon's safety release.

He spins around, facing the owner of that voice, his expression grim. This isn't something he expected to happen. Then again, he never expected any of this to happen. "Pulling a gun on your boss? Not the best of career moves, Toshiko," he says dryly.

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9: All's Well?

**Chapter 9: All's Well?**

"Ah. Hello there, Toshiko, wasn't it? Mind if I call you Toshiko?" the Doctor asks, smiling brilliantly. "Really, if you wanted to talk, you just had to ask. All this violence. It's a wonder you lot ever made it out of the twenty-" He pauses, casting a glance at his companions. Rose is giving him a particularly potent glare. "Rude again. Sorry."

Toshiko looks at him blankly for a moment. "And you are?"

"Introductions! How could I've forgotten? I'm the Doctor, that's Rose and it looks like you already know Jack," he replies, not letting his smile drop.

"The Doctor. As in _the_ Doctor?" Toshiko swings the gun towards him, keeping a wary eye on both him and Jack. The way the Asian woman says his name is telling in and of itself. She knows him. How could she know him? It's not like he's… Oh. _Oh._

He should've realised that two plus two equals four. There's Jack. Reading between the lines of what Rose has already told him, he knows that Jack found her while she was with UNIT. Knows that, somehow, Jack got her away from them where they did something he's not dwelling on too much. Then there's Toshiko. Now that he thinks about it, she looks rather familiar. But how…

"Albion hospital. 2006. Pig-like alien. You were there." Toshiko knows Jack. Jack isn't with UNIT. Which means… He turns towards Jack, a hurt expression on his face. "Torchwood. You're Torchwood."

Anger flares for an instant in Jack's eyes before fading to resignation. "Yeah. I am." There's a challenge in those words. Daring him to object, daring him to express whatever it is that he wants to express. When he keeps silent, still trying to organise his thoughts, Jack looks away. "Tosh, put the gun down."

"Sorry, Jack. Not going to happen until you tell me what the hell's going on. You were gone for two weeks. Two weeks without notice. You just disappeared from the Hub. We were worried. And then you turn up in the company of the Doctor. The Doctor, Jack! You don't get to tell me what to do until you explain," Toshiko replies, not relaxing her stance, betrayal lacing her tone. She glances at him, brow furrowing. He suspects she's trying to equate him with his previous incarnation.

"You want to know what happened to me? You really want to know?" Jack asks and there's something dangerous in those words.

Toshiko swallows visibly and he looks at Rose for a moment, reassured by the steadiness of her gaze, though her visible worry echoes his own. He's not sure what he thinks about learning that Jack works for the enemy. No matter that Rose worked for them in the alternate universe, he will always give the Torchwood in this universe that label. Enemy. Evil. For all that they did to him. For taking her away from him. For breaching the walls in the universe to release a variant of the Cybermen and the Daleks onto a helpless Earth.

He doesn't know how long Jack's worked for Torchwood. Doesn't know if, even if he was working for them, he knew about Yvonne Hartman's Ghost Shift programme. What he does know is that Jack's walking on the edge now. It's visible in his face, his words, in the way he holds his body.

"Yes," Toshiko says boldly.

Jack smiles. It isn't a pleasant expression. "Bilis Manger happened. Bad Wolf happened. I've died and lived and died so many times that I've lost count."

He winces at the words and feels, rather than sees, Rose do the same. This is what it's like to watch a companion unravel. He can't let this continue.

"Manger's gone," Toshiko says. "We went to his shop, but there was no-one there. According to the estate agent, Manger's never existed. Nor has there ever been a clock shop there. What's going on, Jack? Why-"

"Does it matter?" he asks, smoothly interceding with Toshiko for the quickly crumbling Jack. He wants to move in between Toshiko and Jack, to try and protect him, but he's wary of the weapon. He doesn't think the woman would hesitate to shoot him. "Fe – Bilis Manger is gone. Jack's fine. I'm fine. Rose's fine. You're fine. Everything's sorted."

Toshiko turns towards him, arching an eyebrow. "No, it's not. What happened to the alien armour?"

"The what?" he asks, confused. Alien – oh. The Cybermen bits that saved his life.

"Alien armour. It broke through the vault and into this tunnel. I followed it. Found you lot, but no armour. Where is it?"

"Oh. _That_. Floating in the Void somewhere, most likely. I'd say you could get it back, but it's really not a good idea. More like a bad idea. Very bad." He pauses for a moment before smiling again. "So, now that that's said, do you really need to keep pointing that at us? We're not going to hurt you."

Toshiko looks sceptical, but she seems to take a moment to look at the three of them. He knows he doesn't look his best. He's bedraggled, his suit's dirty, possibly torn, and his face stings from whatever cuts he's managed to give himself when he fell. Rose's face is smudged with dirt, her hair tousled. Jack, though, looks like something the cat dragged in. Even worse than him, really. But he can tell that Jack's starting to pull himself back together, hiding his emotions behind a mask. He wonders for a moment if that's a trait he picked up from him or if Jack's always been able to do that.

The woman lowers the gun, sliding it into her holster. "Fine. We'll go back to the Hub."

Jack shakes his head. "Not them. Tosh, look, I'll come back to the Hub with you. The Doctor and Rose need to get back to where they came from before someone starts to miss them. UNIT, most likely, and you know we can't afford to let them stick their noses into our affairs."

Rose stiffens at his side, but she remains silent. He can guess at what she's thinking. Probably something unflattering in regard to Torchwood. Then again, that's what he's thinking.

"It's not-" Toshiko begins, but Jack cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, I know it's not proper, doesn't follow the regs, etcetera. But this time I think we can cut them some slack. So let's get back to the Hub, okay?"

Before Toshiko can say anything in agreement, Rose quickly crosses the tunnel to lay her hand on Jack's arm. "Jack?" she asks, putting dozens of questions into that one word.

Jack smiles sadly. "I'll find you, okay?"

"Jack-" he starts, but Jack turns towards him and shakes his head.

"I'll find you," Jack repeats. "Get out of here."

When he doesn't make a move to leave, doing his best to indicate that he won't leave without Jack, the man sighs. "Damnit, Doctor, go."

"Not without you," he replies. "Jack, you-"

"Don't. Just don't, okay? I said I'll come find you and I will. Now go." Jack's words are terse, but there's an underlying sorrow to them.

Rose opens her mouth, but closes it again after she meets Jack's gaze. Solemnly, the Doctor extends his hand to her and she takes it, entwining their fingers. "This isn't over," he says, willing Jack to believe him.

A shadow of a smile crosses Jack's face as he nods down the tunnel. "Never doubted you."

A pang of sadness strikes his hearts at the words. The last time those words were uttered, Jack died for the first time. He doesn't want to leave, but it doesn't seem that there is any choice. In that moment, he makes a vow.

No matter what. No matter how long it takes. He will find Jack Harkness again. And drag him, willing or unwilling, into the TARDIS.

Some things can wait. This isn't one of them.

* * *

Rose gnaws her lower lip as she picks her way through the debris and detritus that fill the tunnel. She can't believe that Jack's just left them. Toshiko wanted answers, sure, but that didn't mean that Jack had to just…just go. 

She tightens her grip on the Doctor's hand, wanting the reassurance that he's still with her. So much has happened over the course of two days. Immortality still rests heavily on her mind, as does Jack's ultimate fate. She's seen herself, painted in the depths of Jack's eyes, and didn't like what she saw.

The future seems a frightening thing now. Tomorrow used to be an adventure and, within hours, that entire philosophy has changed. She feels the Doctor's concerned gaze, but she resolutely refuses to look at him. This is something she has to reason through on her own.

"D'you…d'you think he's going to try to find us?" she asks, breaking the heavy silence between them.

"He will," the Doctor says with a confidence that she doesn't exactly feel.

When they cross into what's unmistakeably the sewer system, she grimaces as she looks at the crumbling walls. While she knows that the sewers are painstakingly maintained, these look like they've been around for centuries without repair. That's when she remembers the time waves.

"Doctor, what about the Rift? The time storm? Is it still goin' on?"

"Ah." The word isn't exactly comforting as he fishes in his pocket and withdraws the sonic screwdriver. For a moment, he pauses, studying it and the tunnel around them. "Looks like…oh, of course! Should've seen it before. Brilliant, that is. Just brilliant!"

Sometimes, she wishes she had the nerve to smack the Doctor when he's being particularly obtuse. "What?"

"Seems that opening a breach into the Void had an extra-special bonus feature. Did a bit of draining, really. All that extra energy, extracted from you, from Jack and, even better, from the Rift. Didn't have enough power to keep itself open. So it's sealed. No more time storm. Wrapped itself up and nice and neat, really. Couldn't've done it better my – oh, right, I did do that, didn't I?" The Doctor turns towards her, a wide smile on his face.

She shakes her head. "Look at you. Still thinkin' you're so impressive."

"Who's thinking?" he replies, his smile stretching into a grin. "I know I'm impressive."

"Modest, too," she says, unable to stop the smile that turns her lips upwards.

"Yup!" he says proudly but, in one of his quicksilver changes of moods, he tugs her to a stop next to him. "Are you all right? And I mean really all right and not just that load of rubbish that you tend to pull when you're trying to hide something from me."

"Does pot, kettle ring any bells?" she asks wryly, unable to help herself.

He just looks at her, apparently willing to wait as long as he needs to until she answers.

"I'm fine. Honest, Doctor. Fenric didn't hur- well, he did, but it's all better now, yeah? I'm fine," she says, repeating herself, willing him to believe her.

A muscle twitches in the corner of his jaw and he pulls her towards him, engulfing her in a tight embrace. There're tremors running through his body as he clings to her, burying his face in her hair. It doesn't seem to matter that they're in the middle of the Cardiff sewer. "Thought I'd lost you." The words are barely audible. Rather, she feels them rumble through his chest.

"Still here. Seems like you really _can't_ get rid of me that easily," she says, trying to make a joke of it though it isn't funny. There's something frightening about immortality, even though she's just learning about it. God, what if she hadn't found a way back to this universe? What if she found out she was immortal on that alternate Earth? She would've outlived everyone that she cared about. Absolutely everyone…

Now it's her turn to shiver.

He pulls away slightly and stares into her eyes. "Rose, I'm so-"

She shakes her head, pulling one of her hands free and reaching up to touch a finger to his lips. "Stop. 'S not your fault. I chose this when I went back to Satellite Five to save you. So stop blamin' yourself."

He presses a kiss against her finger, making her skin tingle. She can tell that he won't stop blaming himself for this. Words alone can't make him stop.

"You didn't choose _this_," he corrects her, saying the words around her finger.

She pauses a moment, thinking through his words. As she drops her finger from his lips, placing her hand against his shoulder, she shrugs. "Maybe I didn't choose this, precisely. I didn't know what the consequences were going to be. When I was doin' it, all I wanted to do was help. Save you both if I could. At the cost of my life, if I must. Even knowing the price, I'd do it again. In a heartbeat."

Silence stretches between them for a few seconds before she adds in a soft voice, "I just wish I could've spared Jack this particular fate."

* * *

Eternal life. Immortality. Never aging, never withering, never dying. There've been times in his long life that he's craved that particular trait for his companions. He'd never lose them. Never have to fear another Adric, Katarina or Roz. They'd be eternal. Never withering, never aging, never dying. 

He has his memories, of course. Of the good times, the adventures, the laughter, the fun. He remembers each one of his companions' departures – be they for love, life or death. Sometimes, though, the memories aren't enough. There'll be times that he misses Ace calling him 'Professor', or Tegan's bickering or Susan's bright laughter. There were plenty of moments, during the time that he was separated from Rose, that he missed her presence in his life.

What if he didn't have to worry about that any more? Right before him is a companion who'll never die. Never age. Will always stay the same. He could keep her this way forever…

And that's why this is wrong. Not just for him, but for Rose, for Jack and for the rest of the universe. Bad Wolf has left in its wake far-reaching consequences. Time itself rests in the balance of what he decides to do. To keep her, to keep them both, the way they are for eternity is the worst choice possible.

No matter how much it'll hurt when they're gone.

"I'll sort this," he tells her, willing her to believe him. "You and Jack. I'll sort it."

She smiles slightly, seeming to accept his words. "I know."

Soon the soft sound of water trickling down the wall, the faint glub-glub of a drain and the faintest whisper of wind are all that he can hear. Her earlier shudders are all but gone now, his own are merely a memory. Here, in his arms, she lives. He thinks she knows how much the moment when he saw her die frightened him. He's not ready to lose her, not yet, not when so much lies unspoken between them.

"We…" Rose begins, hesitating when the word echoes strangely in the sewer. "We should get back."

Slowly, reluctantly, he releases her, letting his hand trail down her arm to wrap around hers. "Yeah," he says. "We should."

Several minutes, at least two comic would-be falls into muck that he doesn't want to even think about and the unwelcome moment of having to release her to climb out later, they're surveying the damage the time storm left behind. From the centre of the street, Cardiff looks less like a city and more like a Picasso painting. A tree, once tall and proud, is withered, almost melted in the aftermath. A building across the street is split in two, one half a crumbling mess, the other gleaming and new.

When he looks at Rose, there are tears in her eyes. This isn't Cardiff. This is a disaster zone. "The city will need a lot of help to get back on its feet," she says sadly. "I need to call Bambera, let her know that it's safe to bring in UNIT." Rose reaches into her pocket and pauses for a moment, a strange expression on her face.

"Rose?" he asks.

"I forgot," she says. "Left my mobile in the TARDIS. Couldn't've called Bambera even if I wanted to."

"Best get back to the TARDIS, then. Give good ol' Bambera a call and then we can turn our attention to other matters," he replies.

"Jack?"

"Amongst other things," he says and, together, they walk back to the TARDIS.

* * *

Jack takes his time to strap on the wrist computer, feeling as if he's adding another layer of armour. Toshiko is still watching him, still cataloguing his every action. Duty chains him now as much as Bilis once did. Much as he wishes it wasn't so, he can't turn his back on his people. Not now. 

The area doesn't look like much, not now. A few melted Jelly Babies, the remains of chains and his memories are all that's left. It is somewhat fitting, he supposes. There's no need to Retcon anyone after this. No-one would believe it.

"Jack, I-" Tosh begins, cutting herself off when he doesn't turn to look at her. He isn't angry with her, not really. She's doing her job, as she was trained to do. He just wishes… Well, if wishes were horses.

"Where're the others?" he asks, brushing off some of the dust and debris that are caked on his trousers.

"Trying to see what they can do to help. The city's in disarray since the Rift started acting up. It's a miracle that those waves of whatever they were didn't hit the Hub," she explains. "The readings were off the scale."

"They would be," he replies, not bothering to elaborate. "What's happened in my absence?" He turns towards her, finally meeting her gaze.

Toshiko shrugs. "A few new cases. At least one instance of possession by an alien entity. And we found a new cache of alien artefacts dating back to the seventeenth century."

She looks at him intently for a moment, long enough to make him wonder if she's truly able to see past his mask. "The Doctor?" she asks and he supposes that that's the one question that's been burning in her mind since she found him.

"What about him?"

"I didn't realise you knew him," Tosh says. "I was just wondering why-"

He cuts her off with a sharp shake of his head. "Don't complete that thought, Tosh. He's not our enemy."

"Isn't he? You didn't see what happened during the aftermath of the bombing at Downing Street. You certainly haven't seen what the city looks like now. You haven't seen what the…"

Jack stalks forward, staring down at her. "That's enough. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. Leave him out of it. You wanted to go back to the Hub, so let's go." He moves past her, his strength returning as he stretches his long legs into a fast walk, dodging debris on his way. It takes a few seconds for him to realise that she isn't following him.

"You don't, do you?" Tosh asks.

"I don't what?" he asks, impatient now to get back to the Hub. If he has to do this, he'll do this properly.

"You don't want to go back to the Hub. You want to follow the Doctor," she says and he's stunned.

"I never said that."

"You don't have to, Jack. I know you," she says, offering him the faintest of smiles. "The Ritz? Captain Jack Harkness?" He winces as she says the name. "You've got the same look about you."

"Come on, Tosh. I don't have time for this," he replies and pointedly turns.

"You do, though. That's the point, isn't it? You've been trying to find him for years, haven't you?" When he looks back at her, he can practically see her putting the pieces of the puzzle of his existence together, coming up with a fragmented whole. "This is what you've wanted all along."

"Tosh," he snaps. "Come on."

"Will you come back?" she asks. "If you go with him, will you come back?"

He deflates, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yes," he says, even though he knows that isn't a promise he can make. He doesn't know what he wants. Duty is one thing, friendship is another. There are things he needs to know, needs to have fixed. Things that he has to tell the Doctor and hear in return. Things he has to tell Rose.

"I didn't see you," she says finally, causing him to shoot her a confused glance. "Just followed that bit of armour and it disappeared. Not sure where it went, actually. Looks like there were some kids playing in the tunnels, but nothing more. We'll seal it up and forget about it. Until you come home."

"Tosh, you don't have-"

"I do," she corrects him. "And I am. Go on, Jack. I'll see you when you get back."

"Toshiko," he says, starting to protest, but the look in her eyes causes him to change his words. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she says and walks towards him. Just as she's about to brush past him, she turns and wraps him in a brief embrace. "Come back soon. We miss you."

Before he can say anything else to her, she releases him and slips away down the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness, with only the faint light of her torch betraying her presence.

He watches her retreating light until it's all but invisible, even to his keen gaze. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he turns his attention to his wrist computer. Tracing the TARDIS is an easy affair. After a few button presses and a whispered command, a pulsing light appears on the tiny display screen.

"Ready or not," he mutters, a smile crossing his face. "Here I come."

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter 10: Post Mortem

**Chapter 10: Post-Mortem**

Rose Tyler is convinced that, without paperwork – in triplicate – UNIT would collapse upon itself, floundering in its inability to requisition troops, equipment or weaponry. Even though she's been relegated to consultant status, the Brigadier does insist upon her filling out the proper forms that accompany any sort of military action. 'Covering your asses', is how Bambera put it, but she has another term for it: 'Trite annoyance'.

At least that's sorted now. She spent ten minutes on the phone with Bambera and another five working her way through the paperwork. Though she lives in a time machine, she can never be certain when she'll next return to Earth, let alone this particular timeframe. There's no guarantee that if she fills out the forms tomorrow or the next day that, when they return to Earth, it won't be yesterday or two years from now.

The forms are piled neatly beside her on the captain's chair. All she needs to do now is to mail them to the Brigadier. She almost jumps when she feels the seat press slightly downwards as the Doctor leans over her shoulder. "That's one thing I don't miss about UNIT," the Doctor says thoughtfully.

"What's that?" she asks, though she knows the answer.

"Paperwork. Alistair did love his paperwork. Always insisted that I fill out forms and requisitions for the tiniest of items. A glass beaker? A one-page form in triplicate. Though, come to think about it, I did tend to skip that particular part of the job every now and then."

"Every now and then?" she asks, repeating his words in a dubious tone. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as he hesitates before responding.

"Well, maybe a bit more than that. No. Not really a bit. A lot more than that, actually."

She shakes her head in fond amusement. There have been plenty of times that she wishes she could've done the same. But duty always held her back. Duty. She considers the word for a moment, wondering if that's what drove Jack to force them to leave without him.

The thought casts a shadow over their current conversation and the Doctor's gaze sharpens. "Rose?" he asks. "What is it?"

She shrugs slightly, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans. "Jus' thinking, really."

"About?" he prompts.

She's not certain how she can put her feelings to words, or even if she can. She's seen Jack twice now since she's returned to this universe, and each occasion he's been different. The first time he was darker, barely recognisable as the same man who saved her from a barrage balloon in 1941. He used her in ways that she still doesn't want to dwell on, both because of the events themselves and how they made her react. She changed too, at that point. She's just thankful that she recognised it for what it was and stopped before she followed in Jack's footsteps.

This latest time, she saw the Jack that she remembered. A bit battered, perhaps. Hurting, definitely. But recognisably him. The same Jack who danced with her on top of an invisible spaceship, the same Jack who told impossible stories and had infectious laughter. Yet he still chose to have them leave without him. There was a longing in his gaze that couldn't be feigned, but he still let them go. "Jack," she says. "He's…"

"He is," the Doctor agrees, apparently understanding what she can't say. Some unidentifiable emotion darts across his face before he moves in front of her and holds out his hand. "No time like the present."

She blinks at him, a blush darkening her cheeks. "What?" she asks, proud that her voice doesn't falter.

"You're a mystery. An enigma. Well, not really. More like a puzzle. A really, really difficult puzzle that…" His voice trails off at her blank look and he seems to switch gears, launching into an explanation. "I need to see what I can find out about how this immortality thing of yours works. I might've missed a bit of the Vortex in your head. A tiny, insignificant particle that just has the side-bonus of freezing you in time. Or maybe your DNA's been altered. No use guessing when I can have facts. Data. And scans. Lots and lots of scans."

"Oh." Scans. Tests. Experiments. A suddenly vivid image of her in the place of a lab rat causes her to shake her head, desperate to remove the illusion. The Doctor wouldn't do that to her, she knows. He might be curious, but he'd never relegate her to the position of an experiment, a curiosity.

With a weary sigh, she places her hand in his and offers him a smile. "No time like the present," she agrees.

He pulls her to her feet with enough force to cause her to overbalance, practically falling into him. His arms automatically wrap around her until she finds her feet again but, even then, he doesn't release her. "Sorry about that," he says and she gets the impression that he isn't sorry at all.

"'S okay," she replies, not sure if she should try to move away from him or savour this moment. Finally, she settles on savouring when it becomes apparent that he doesn't want to release her.

Dozens of emotions flicker in his gaze, none of them gaining precedence over the others. "Whatever happens, Rose, there's something I want you to know."

"Blimey, that sounds a bit ominous," she says, trying to make a joke though it falls flat.

He stares intently at her, as if he categorising her very soul. "Nope. It isn't. Well, I suppose in some circumstances it might be considered a little…dark? No, not the right word. Freaky?" He grimaces after the word leaves his lips, as if it left a bad taste in its passing. "No, no, no. Not that. More…"

"What?" she asks. Sometimes he needs someone to stop him. Especially when it comes to babble that says nothing at all.

"I'm glad – no, happy. Ecstatic? – that you're still here. In this one tiny, almost insignifi-"

His words wash over her, warming her as much as his embrace. Here, in the safety of his arms, she can almost forget everything that's happened. Everything, that is, except Jack. She knows that his existence, his immortality, is her fault. She wanted him to live. Desperately, completely.

She thinks it's somewhat like making a deal with the devil. If nothing is clarified beyond a general 'he lives', anything might or could happen. And it did. She knows enough now to realise that he's blamed the Doctor for his condition, for leaving him. But his immortality is her fault. Not the Doctor's; just hers.

When she realises that the Doctor has stopped talking, apparently waiting for her response, she smiles up at him. "Was miles away," she says by way of apology.

He looks at her with fond exasperation. "Always knew you never listened to me."

She pretends to ignore him for a few seconds before she grins. "I'm sorry? You were sayin' something?"

He moves so swiftly that she doesn't have enough time to try and extract herself from his grip before his fingers are dancing up and down her sides, tickling her. She's torn between laughter and shouting, doing her best to dodge him as he presses his advantage. "No fair!" she says in a tone somewhere between a giggle and a laugh.

"Oh, fair's fair in l…" He pauses, brow furrowing as if he's deep in thought. His hands pause mid-assault, and she decides that this means war.

Stepping forward, close enough to be well within his grasp, she tries to retaliate. Fingers and laughter fight for dominance as he tries to reach her while avoiding her questing hands. Her sides are beginning to ache from laughter, her fingers aching from tickling, but she's not ready to give in just yet. If she has her way, he'll yield first.

She thinks he's about to say something – either that or laugh – when she hears it. A low, throaty chuckle comes from somewhere behind her.

"You know," Jack says thoughtfully, "this explains _so_ much."

* * *

Jack Harkness doesn't remember his name. What he remembers are his labels. Who he was and when he was it. He remembers one of the few times that he was proud to carry the label of 'Jack Harkness', proud to be who he was. It was with these two – the Doctor and Rose – that he realised that there was more to life than a con. More to life than lies alone.

He remembers the first time he walked into the TARDIS and saw them together, saw what they meant to each other with each step of their dance. He remembers, at first, feeling as if he were on the outside looking in. He was the intruder here and he was distinctly aware of it. That faded over time and he remembers the first time he realised that the Doctor wasn't going to kick him out at the next available opportunity. That's when he knew that they didn't care about what he did before, who he was. What they cared about was who he is.

He feels much the same now. The outsider looking in. In some ways, he thinks he doesn't belong here. Not any more. He's changed so much since the last time he was here. He walked in here a conman. He left a man. Maybe a hero, maybe not, but he was just a man. Just him. But that part of him died on Satellite Five.

This time he's more than just a conman. He's a thief, a liar and a killer. He's someone who has done things he should regret, but doesn't. Hard and cold, that's him. He's not the Jack Harkness they remember. Not really. But immortality will do that to a person, he supposes.

He's about to say something else, perhaps something about being sorry he's missed all the fun, when he finds himself staring, spell-bound, at the Doctor. Somehow, in the past few seconds, the Time Lord has crossed the room and is staring intently at him. He feels somewhat uncomfortable as the focus of that heady gaze, as though all his sins are exposed.

"Welcome home," the Doctor finally says, breaking the seriousness of his expression with a breathtaking grin.

Jack finds himself smiling and is about to reply when his attention is caught by Rose. He wonders if she's truly happy to see him, now that she's had time to digest what's happened. He did her a great disservice the last time he saw her, one that he regrets. She isn't smiling at him and he's worried. The Doctor seems happy, at least. And, in so many ways, so is he. But Rose…

Then she smiles, opening her arms wide. "Come here, you big lump," she says, gesturing for him to join her.

After a quick glance at the Doctor, feeling as if he's asking for permission, he crosses the short distance between them, enfolding her in his embrace. Something's breaking, he thinks. Cracking, crumbling. It takes him a moment to realise that it's him. This isn't who he is. Not this hard, cold man he's become. It's another layer of armour and with each second she holds him that armour is fracturing.

"I'll forgive you," she says, whispering the words into his ear. "But only if you forgive me, too."

He pulls back from the hug slightly to look into her eyes, confused. "Whatever for?" he asks.

"For what happened between us," she replies, not filling in the details. He suspects that she hasn't told the Doctor precisely what he did. For that, he's not certain if he's thankful or not. "Was as much my fault as yours. An', knowing you, you're probably beating yourself up over it. Bad as the Doctor, you are. Taking on the weight of the world. 'S not just you. Was me too."

He never thought of it in that way. Not really. He'd used her, yes. But what if she'd considered using him, too? They really were a pair, weren't they? He smiles at her, feeling the remnants of his shattered armour crumble around him. "I will, but only if you forgive yourself."

He's rewarded with a breathtaking smile and an even more enthusiastic hug. In what could be a second or a century later, he feels a second set of arms wrap around him from behind, enfolding both him and Rose. "It's good to have you back," the Doctor says.

He relishes the few moments of comfort that they're both offering him before he motions that he wishes to be freed. Though he can wait for centuries to get his answers, he doesn't want to. Not now. He's still not certain that this isn't some sort of dream, even though everything feels so real.

When they release him and step away, he puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers, feeling almost every year of his true age. He's not certain how to begin, not really. Accusations are no longer needed. Not now that he knows the truth. The Doctor didn't abandon him. In reality, the Time Lord thought he was dead. Instead, he just wants to know why. Why is he immortal? And, most importantly, can this be fixed?

Immortality is a burden he no longer wishes to keep.

"Doctor, do you think you can fix this?" he asks, trusting his friend – that never really changed, did it? Still his friend. Never doubted him, never will – to know what he means.

The Time Lord's mouth turns downwards in a faint frown as he rocks back and forth on his heels. "Oh, probably. No, definitely. Make that absolutely, actually. All things can be sorted given enough time and energy. Probably the latter that's giving you the ability to come back from the dead, actually. Too much energy. You're probably bursting with it. No, I know you are. Glowed like a light bulb, the pair of you."

The Doctor looks between him and Rose and points towards the door that leads deeper into the TARDIS. "Best get to the medical room, then. Can take a look at you both and run some scans. Lots of scans. Lots and lots… You get the idea."

"Lead on, then," he replies and follows the Doctor and Rose deeper into the ship that he once called home.

* * *

"Of course!" the Doctor exclaims, practically dancing around the various machinery and equipment in the medical room. Oh, it was obvious. So, so obvious. Amazing, really, that he hadn't realised it before. He had his suspicions when he'd first heard of this particular immortality problem, but this cinched it.

"Doctor?" Rose asks, interrupting his internal monologue. "What is it?"

"A tiny, teeny, itsy, bitsy, blink-and-you-miss-it bit of the Vortex, actually. A fragment of time, lodged in your brains. Doesn't hurt you. Just sits there, inactive, until something comes along and threatens your continued existence and POP! It activates. Fixes you up, puts you back as good as new and BAM! It's back to inactive again. It's brilliant, really. Absolutely brilliant." He gestures with his hands as he explains, barely registering that Rose has tugged Jack out of his path as he moves about the room.

"Now that you know what it is, can you get rid of it? Deactivate it permanently?" Jack asks.

"Ah. That's the crux of the problem, isn't it? There's a way. Well, of course there's a way. Wouldn't even bother mentioning it if there wasn't." He's about to explain when Rose gasps.

"Oh no, Doctor. Not again," she says, shaking her head. "It killed you, last time. You can't-"

"I can," he says, smoothly cutting her off. "I have and will, as necessary. This time's different. New new me, after all. Not to mention the whole part where the bit that needs removing is barely enough to give me indigestion, let alone trigger a regeneration."

Jack looks between them, a look of confusion etched across his face. "What are you talking about?"

It's the simplest equation of them all, really. Before Rose has the chance to do more than open her mouth, he closes the distance between himself and Jack, close enough to see the pulse fluttering underneath the other man's neck. Vaguely, he wonders what it's like. Death. Then life. He knows little of the first. Dying, he's intimately acquainted with. But death itself? That's the greatest of mysteries, especially to one such as he.

He smiles reassuringly once he notices Jack's trepidation. "It'll only take a moment," he says.

And, with that, he kisses Jack Harkness. Jack doesn't respond, not immediately, but that's to be expected. His attention isn't really on the motions and actions of the kiss, but what he's searching for. Flashing of memory dart past him and he feels Jack trying to withdraw.

_Not my name._

The phrase impacts against his mind and he winces. To him, he will always be Jack Harkness, even if it's only a label, much as he's the Doctor. He does his best not to look deeper, though he can feel the space in Jack's mind where two years' worth of memories once resided. Then he feels doors erecting themselves, keeping him out, warning him away. Jack's done this before, he realises. Telepathic contact.

He wonders if that's how his memories were stolen from him. No matter. That can be sorted later. Right now, he's got a different purpose in mind. It's a bit wily, that piece of the Vortex. Hiding cleverly somewhere behind the medulla, he thinks, but he'll get it. He concentrates more on breathing in, pulling that piece of the Vortex home. There's a gasping sound and he feels something pass between them. He breaks the kiss and withdraws his mind slowly, gently, letting Jack recover as he steps away.

Once he's certain there's enough clearance between them, he breathes out, releasing a tiny mote of golden light that flares once and disappears. "Ta-da!" he says, spreading his arms wide. "It's all gone. No more bit of the Vortex stuck in your head, no more rising from the dead. I've probably just ruined your plans for your next party, but there's nothing for it. Had to be done."

Jack blinks at him. "You kissed me," he says, shock colouring his tone.

"You kissed me goodbye once," he replies as he drops his arms. "Thought it only proper to kiss you hello."

A grin stretches Jack's lips. "Hello?" he says hopefully.

"Ah-ah," he replies, shaking his finger, though his grin widens. "Once is enough. Well, twice, if you count the last kiss. Honestly, give a man a kiss and suddenly it's gone domestic. Next thing I know, you'll be asking about china patterns."

Jack doesn't bother to respond, though he suspects that the leer he gets is answer enough. When he turns towards Rose, she's staring at him, worried. It takes him a moment to realise that she's looking for the tell-tale signs of an oncoming regeneration. Gold dancing across his skin, sudden flare of light, pain, that sort of thing.

"Still here," he tells her, letting his grin fade. "See? It's still me. Though I could be lying. I could be a Slitheen. Do you think I look like a Slitheen?" He reaches up to touch his forehead. "Nope, no zip. Can't be a Slitheen." He lets one of his hands fall to touch his neck, feeling his double pulse. "Ah, there we are. Two hearts. Binary vascular system. Brilliant system. Lose one, have a spare. Happened once, mind. But I was getting on a bit, long life. Long story, really. Not many species have two hearts, y'know, Rose. I think it comes down to one conclusion, don't you?"

He walks away from Jack, closing the distance between himself and her, and comes to a stop a few feet away. Holding out a hand towards her, he offers her a smile. "Still me?" he asks.

She smiles, relief evident in her eyes, as she reaches out and grasps his hand in her own. "Still you," she replies. "An' Jack?"

"Oh, I'd say he's still Jack. You are, right?" he asks, turning slightly to look at his friend.

Jack shakes his head, holding up his hands. "I'm staying out of this one."

"That's not what I meant," Rose says, swatting at his arm. "Is he better? Did you get rid of it?"

He gives her a wounded look as he grasps his injured arm. "Oi! What was that for? The cheek of you. All right, yes. On both counts. Right as rain, really. Just one more thing to do."

"What's that?" she asks.

In response, he pulls her into his embrace and ducks his head enough so that his lips are hovering centimetres from her own. "Just this," he says, breathing the words across her lips. Instead of him closing the distance between them, it's her, stretching upwards.

Of their own volition, his eyes close as he stretches into her mind, calling for that piece of the Vortex that's housed itself within her. She doesn't close him out of her mind, instead leaving herself open and trusting. It's tempting, so tempting, to lose himself here, to forget his purpose and seek solace in the comfort of her thoughts. He could have her, have this, forever, he knows. But he won't. He can't. Not when she trusts him, loves him, this much.

Everything ends. With renewed purpose, he stretches deeper, calling that piece of the Vortex out of its hiding place. He finds it within her memories of the alternate Earth, dancing across a Norwegian beach.

Where the fragment within Jack was easily convinced to withdraw, this one resists his summons. He finds himself on that beach, standing where he once stood in image alone, looking at a version of Rose that doesn't mesh with his memories of this place. Instead, she is as she was on Satellite Five, glowing brightly.

Bad Wolf, he realises.

"You need me," she says, speaking in the dual-tone voice that he remembers so well. "You do not want me to leave, Doctor. You wish her to live. That can be time's gift to you. Her immortality."

"No," he says, shaking his head in denial. "That's not what I want."

Laughter echoes across the beach. "Liar," she accuses him. "You do want. And need. And love. You are afraid that you'll lose her. This way, you won't have to. I can stay."

"No," he says fiercely. "That doesn't matter. Didn't realise it before, not really. Didn't realise what I had until it was gone. No more. Tomorrow doesn't matter. Yesterday doesn't matter. Today does. You're finished here."

The image of Rose smiles, satisfied. "Exactly."

And the beach fades away, replaced by the feel of lips against lips and the sensation of something passing between them. When he finally breaks the kiss, he smiles at her and pulls away from her embrace. Releasing the last fragment of the Vortex in a puff of air, he watches as it, too, flares once and disappears.

They're human again. Rose and Jack. Just as time meant them to be. But there's one thing left that has to be sorted. One last end that needs to be tidied up before he can call this done. Rose moves to his side as he spins on his heel, regarding Jack with a quizzical expression. "Torchwood?" he asks.

Jack's lips narrow as he crosses his arms before himself in what seems to be a defensive gesture. He wonders if Jack even realises he's done so. "Yeah. Torchwood."

"Why?"

"They made me an offer when I got to this century. I wasn't given the option of refusing," Jack replies, bitterness lacing his tone. "It's good work. I work with good people - and Owen."

"Like Yvonne Hartman?" he asks, unable to help himself. He feels more than sees Rose flinch beside him.

"She was a fanatic, Doctor. I kept out of her way as long as she kept out of mine. It was mutually beneficial for both of us," Jack says and a second later, his expression softens. "If I'd known. If I'd really known what they were up to, I could've stopped it."

"Not your fault," Rose says. "That's the past. What matters is now, yeah?"

Jack nods. However, when the Doctor doesn't echo that acknowledgement, she asks again. "Yeah?"

It's his turn to nod. "Yeah. Which means what does matter is now. And the future. But really now now."

"Now now?" Jack asks.

"Yup. More immediate that way. Though that isn't answering my question," he says, brow furrowing. "No, wait. That's because I haven't asked it yet." He regards Jack for a long moment before he asks, "Is this just a fly-by visit, or are you coming home to stay?"

_To be concluded..._


	11. Chapter 11: Adjournment

**Chapter 11: Adjournment**

He isn't sure what he expected, really. Come into the TARDIS, get the whole immortality problem sorted and head back to Torchwood, most likely. Not this. Not to be invited back to a life that he thought he left behind. No more time and space travel, not for him. He was stuck doing the same thing every day. Living life day by day, sequentially, like any other human.

Things are different now, aren't they? He is human now. He feels it now, deep inside him, in that place that once seemed to know far too much about the future. Not any more. There's just him. He's human again and he's hard pressed to determine just what he feels. This is exactly what he wanted, yes, but it changes everything. It changes how he's lived his life since Satellite Five. He can no longer afford such a cavalier attitude towards death.

That conversation he had with Gwen seems so long ago.

_Gwen watched Ianto and he watched her out of the corner of his eye. "All that deception. Because he couldn't bear to live without her. So have you ever loved anyone that much?" _

_He didn't respond, letting his thoughts turn inwards. Gwen continued a moment later, a thoughtful tone in her voice. "When she had hold of you, I thought, just for a moment, I thought maybe you could die after all."_

_He looked into the Hub, for a moment wishing that that could've been true. "Wanna know a secret? So did I. And just for a second there, I felt so... alive."_

He can't do that any more, now can he? Back to being Jack Harkness, human. Just as mortal as any other man on Earth. God, it feels good to realise that. Sure, he'll have to change the way he operates, but that's okay. He can survive. He will survive because that's what he does. He survives. Lives on. And, now, some day, he will die. Just as he's always wanted.

But that doesn't answer the Doctor's question. Does he want to stay? Back to the same old life? Before, even without the shadow of immortality hanging over him, he supposes that his answer would've been immediate. Of course he'd come. Of course he's back to stay. But things aren't as simple now. They can't be.

Over a hundred years have passed since he was last within this ship. He knows that he's different, that he's changed. In many ways, not for the better. Then there's what he's leaving behind. Yes, he could leave. Let Tosh, Ianto, Gwen and Owen muddle their way through protecting Earth from whatever the Rift attracts. But would that be right?

What the hell is he supposed to do? What he wants? What he feels like doing? Or what he should be doing – whatever that is?

He realises that he's been quiet for too long when Rose shifts nervously beside the Doctor, her gaze trained upon him. He thinks he knows what she wants him to say, what both she and the Doctor want him to say. He just wishes he knew what he wants to say.

So he hides a non-answer behind flirting, because that's the easiest thing he can do. This is something he doesn't know the answer to, not yet. He knows he can't keep them here, not really. But he's not sure if he can leave. Damnit.

"Would I get a repeat of what you just did?" he asks, giving the Doctor a half-hearted leer.

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor says, his expression oddly knowing. He wonders if the Time Lord knows that he can't answer the question. "I seem to remember telling you that you had to buy me a drink first."

He lets himself smile. "There's a Thresher's down the street. Would a six-pack do you?"

"Only one way to find out," the Doctor replies. "Thing is, that doesn't really answer the question, now does it? Buying drinks and snogs… No, wait. That's not buying a snog. Or is it? Would a drink be considered a bribe? Rose? Is that considered a bribe in human culture? Because there is this species – Hervalllunallians – look a bit like a mixture of an elephant and a tiger, actually – who believe that holding someone's hand is a bribe. Or was it a proposition? I really can't remember. Anyway, as I was saying before I distracted myself, that doesn't answer the question."

It's really amazing how much useless babble can pour out of this Doctor's mouth. "Guess it doesn't," he says, looking away from them both. "Thing is, I don't know what I want to do. Or even if I should do whatever it is that I want. I've got duties here, things that don't change just because I head off to have adventures in space and time." He turns his head and meets the Doctor's gaze.

"Can't you just, oh, do the same thing I'm doin' with UNIT?" Rose asks. "I'm sort of on retainer. They call us and we answer, simple as that. Couldn't you do the same?"

Of course UNIT's doing that for her. But, if he was in Bambera's shoes, he'd want to do everything he could to keep Rose within the fold. The addition of the Doctor was only a special bonus. He smiles sadly. "Doesn't work that way for Torchwood," he replies. "Mostly because, currently, I am Torchwood."

"I'm not sure I understand," Rose says. "What do you mean you're Torchwood?"

"I run it. Well, this branch of it. There is no-one else, not really. No-one has my experience or my knowledge. If I leave Torchwood behind, in the hands of my team, I don't know what'll happen. To them or to Cardiff."

"Can't UNIT sort it?" Rose doesn't understand, but she hasn't been around as long as he has.

He shakes his head. "Jurisdiction. Proves a bit of a problem, really. We're usually more than happy to let them sort the big stuff. It's the one-on-one things that we handle. They're too military-minded for a lot of it." He doesn't go into how, in many ways, that's a lie. He thinks that someone needs to hold Torchwood back. Then again, someone needed to hold him back for a long time as well.

"But you don't belong here, Jack. You're from the future. You know the future. I jus' don't understand why you'd have to stay," Rose replies, shaking her head.

"That's a point. A very, very, very good point. You know too much-" the Doctor begins.

He cuts the Time Lord off with a sharp shake of his head. "Same could be said for you, Doctor. But, from all indications, you lived on Earth for at least a decade. Day by day. Hour by hour. You lived here. I'm doing the same thing. Though, admittedly, I've been here a lot longer than that."

The Doctor looks suspicious. "How long _have_ you been on Earth? In this time, that is."

"A century, give or take a few years," he replies and he catches Rose's wince out of the corner of his eye.

A frown crosses the Doctor's face as he makes a gesture towards the door. "That can't be right. A century? History must've been changed. No-one can survive that long without going native, without trying to use-" The Doctor curbs his words when he glances at Jack, seeing his frown.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he grumbles. Oh, it's true, of course. That's always a danger. Stuck in a time before your own, knowing as much as you do about the future, the temptation's always there to change it. He knows, however, that even if he tries to change it, for the larger events, they'll still happen. The story might change, but the ending stays the same. He's seen it before, caused it before. But this time, he hasn't, he didn't.

Travelling with a Time Lord has taught him a few more things about time. It's fragile. It's constantly being rewritten. And he cannot reveal the future to these people. On days when he knew something terrible was going to happen, he locked himself in his office, a virtual hermit, until the event had passed and he could echo his co-workers' gasps of shock and amazement. It was hard, yes, but if he didn't do that, anything might happen. He has no desire to meet the Reapers that Time Agency training and various legends tell him about.

"I need to check something," the Doctor says and darts out of the door without another word.

Rose gives him a shrug, as if to say that she can't explain the Doctor's actions. Then again, who can?

* * *

Impossible, improbable and really, really, really not likely. Oh, the Doctor knows that he regularly defies those labels. Then again, so do his companions, but a century? A century locked in the same time, same place. Living the slow path because that's all Jack could've done. He might be giving Jack's influence on history more credit than he's due, but he has a hard time believing that things haven't changed.

But can he really say that? Since the War, time's been jumbled. Rewriting itself, sorting itself, to cover a universe where the Time Lords don't exist any more. He's rewritten history himself. Brought about Torchwood and, in turn, brought about a Cybermen and Dalek invasion. Admittedly, that's been sorted, but the truth remains.

It's Heisenberg in action. No-one can observe history first-hand without changing it. But Jack's been around for a century. A century! He barely realises when he reaches the console room. He's halfway to the console before he registers his location and, shaking his head, he all but rushes to the console. A few twists of a knob and a twist of that dial later, he's accessed the temporal database.

"Jack Harkness, Harkness, Harkness," he mutters to himself, tapping the Gallifreyan characters on the screen with his fingertip. The screen shifts at his command, rearranging shapes and information until he finds what he's been searching for. It's never wise to know one's future, he knows, but now he knows part of Jack's.

He carefully shuts down the system access, password-protecting the information just to be cautious. When he returns to the medical room, he notices that Rose is still trying to convince Jack that he has to stay here, on the TARDIS. But Jack's still resisting.

"I think I know what we can do," he announces. "Bit like a retainer, but more like a holiday. I'm sure Torchwood gives you holidays. Paid and the like. Think your people can last a week, or even two days, without you about?"

"Doctor, why're you-" Rose begins, but he cuts her off with a warning glance.

"What do you think, Jack?" he asks.

"I think they can survive a week without me," Jack replies. "But Rose's told me about the time you meant to bring her back in twelve hours that really turned into twelve months. Think you can make it back here in that rough timeline?"

The Doctor sighs. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Nope!" Rose says, grinning.

"You are not helping," he tells her. "Thought you were supposed to be on my side. Isn't that in the Time Lord companion's contract? No cheek, no disagreeing and always on my side."

Rose shakes her head, though her eyes still dance with mirth. "Think you forgot the bit where companions are supposed to challenge you. Makes life interesting."

"Suppose it does," he agrees, turning back towards Jack. "Well?"

Jack frowns. "Would you be able to bring me back? One week, to the day?"

"Yup. One week to the day, promise." That's the least he can do. His mind drifts back to what he found in the database and he offers Jack a smile. "It's not a permanent solution, mind, but I'll tell you this. It won't always be like this. Popping in, taking you off for as long as you like before bringing you back one week later in this timeline. It's just for a bit, and then you can come home full-time."

Jack's gaze sharpens. "You know something, don't you?"

He smiles, trusting that he's reached the stage of textbook enigmatic. "I know lots of things, Jack."

"And you're not going to answer that question, are you?"

He just continues to smile.

Jack's lips turn upwards as he nods. "Well, guess there's no other choice, is there? Only way I'm going to get the best of both worlds. So, I suppose you'd say that that's a yes."

Rose practically throws herself into Jack's arms, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his lips before pulling away. "Good," she says, satisfied.

When Jack looks pointedly at him, he shrugs. "Already told you. Drink first. Snog, maybe."

Jack grins. "You always were a tough man to catch."

"But I'm still worth it," he replies. "If not more so, actually. Think I'm a bit foxier in this body. Don't you? – no, wait, don't answer that."

"See Jack?" Rose asks, grinning. "Still hasn't changed that. Still thinks he's so impressive."

"Only because I am," he says. "Only question is, does your week off start now? Or do you need to sort a few things first?"

Though Jack's smile doesn't fade, he pulls away from Rose and nods. "I should let them know I'm alive."

"Well, go on, then," he says. "Sooner you're gone, the sooner you're back and the sooner we can leave." He's already thinking of their first destination. He never did take Rose to Barcelona, did he? No, wait. Even better. Gralanis Major has a year-long festival every few hundred years to celebrate a comet's passing. Best party this side of the Milky Way, at least. Oh, yes. That'd be brilliant.

A proper holiday, really. And judging from looks of his companions, they all need it. "Oh, and, Jack?" he says, stopping his friend's progress towards the door. "A shower might be a good idea."

Jack turns and grins at him. "Only if you join me."

"Down, boy," he says dryly.

Jack gives him a half-hearted salute. "Might be a while," Jack warns.

"Time Lord," he replies with a smile. "Got all the time in the world."

Jack nods and disappears out the door. Once he hears Jack's footsteps recede, he turns towards Rose. He opens his mouth to ask her a question, but she steps forward and places a finger on his lips, curbing his words.

"I," she declares, "am going to take a shower. No need to suggest one."

He blinks as she drops her finger, turning the motion into a faint caress as she turns away. However, before she leaves, she turns towards him with a wicked grin across her face. "You are, of course, welcome to join me."

With those words she walks out the door and turns left, leaving him gaping in her wake. Did she-? She just-? Swallowing heavily, he straightens his jacket and walks – most definitely not runs, that would be undignified – out the door…

And turns left.

* * *

She leans against the solid strength of a building, trying to catch her breath. A holiday, he said. The party to end all parties, he said. No running, no hopping for their lives, no nothing. Just fun and dancing and a proper holiday from all the excitement of the past few days.

She should've known that that wouldn't last.

There was a coup planned for the height of the festival. Something about the comet heralding some sort of terrible change for the planet, she thinks. Really, after a time, the problems tend to blur together, but one thing never changes. There's defeating a bad guy, or saving the world but, most especially, there's running for their lives.

By the time she feels her breath coming back to her, she spots the Doctor and Jack running towards her. Their long coats trail behind them, almost cape-like. For an instant, the absurd image of the two in superhero outfits fills her mind, but she blinks it away. There're more important things to do.

As they get closer, the Doctor holds out his hand for hers and she catches it, easily joining them.

"All sorted?" she asks.

The Doctor shoots her a grin. "Oh, in a manner of speak-" His voice is cut off by the sound of a massive explosion.

"Why is it that something always has to blow up around you?" she asks between breaths.

"Doesn't always! Well, sometimes. Okay, a lot of time, but not always," the Doctor protests against her words. "Besides, this one wasn't my fault."

"No?" she asks.

"Nope. It was Jack's!"

"Blamin' him now, are we?" She shakes her head in amusement, hopping over a discarded banner.

"He's the one who tried to buy me that drink!" the Doctor says. "How was I to know that that sort of thing wasn't allowed in Galvanian society? Well, it is in the fifty-first century, but we've got some way to go before we get there. Getting arrested wasn't my fault."

She laughs. "Uh-huh. I believe you."

"Honest!" The TARDIS is looming ahead of them and she feels the Doctor slow slightly to dig out his key. "But it did have a bonus," he admits.

"I didn't get my kiss," Jack responds, piping up from the other side of the Doctor.

"Never would've found out about the alien influence otherwise," the Doctor says, ignoring Jack. They've reached the TARDIS and he's slipping the key into the slot.

"But I still didn't get my kiss," Jack repeats his earlier words.

"But I still had to save the two of you," she replies, laughing. "Never changes with you two. Can't take you anywhere. You just keep getting yourselves locked up at the drop of a coin."

The Doctor doesn't deign to answer, instead opening the doors and ushering them inside. "I've got it! Have I ever taken you to the Eye-"

"No," she says at the same time as Jack.

"What? The Eye of Orion is the most peaceful planet you've ever seen. No alien invasions, no revolutions and, most especially, no running for our lives need apply." The Doctor's using his best wounded-puppy expression, but she refuses to be swayed.

"That's what you said about Galvanis Major," she replies. "Let's just, I dunno, float about in the Vortex for a bit. I'm sure there's something we can do to entertain ourselves here." She doesn't miss Jack's comical leer.

"Oh, I know there's something I could do to entertain you," Jack says, reaching out to tug her towards him. "I think you still owe me a dance."

"Thought you were savin' that for the Doctor," she replies, grinning.

"There's plenty of me to go around," Jack says, tapping his chest with his free hand. "Besides, the Doctor still owes me a kiss."

"You never actually gave me that drink," the Doctor counters.

"That's because we got arrested. I don't think that-"

She just laughs, drowning out their banter with her mirth. The two men give her wounded looks as she guffaws, holding up her hand as she struggles to control herself. "Listen to you two! You're arguing like an old married couple. Why don't you jus' kiss and make up?"

Jack and the Doctor look at each other then at her with quizzical expressions on their faces. "Where's the fun in that?" the Doctor asks.

"He just likes pretending he's hard to get," Jack says, pointing an accusing finger at the Doctor. "But you know better, don't you, Rose?"

She surprises herself by flushing a bright red at the implication. "Jack…"

"I am hard to get," the Doctor agrees, strolling over to the two of them. "But not _impossible_."

The Doctor closes the distance between them and ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss. Her free hand wraps around his torso, holding him close, even as her other is still gripped in Jack's.

She feels Jack's fingers begin to loosen, obviously intending to let her go. The Doctor breaks the kiss slowly, even as Jack releases her. However, before Jack can move away, he leans across her, brushing his lips swiftly over Jack's.

"Didn't you know, Jack?" the Doctor asks. "Patience is a virtue. Or so I've been told."

**THE END**


End file.
